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FRAGMENTS 


FROM    THE 


STUDY    OF    A    PASTOR 


BY 


GARDINER    SPRING, 

PASTOR    OF    THE    BRICK    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH    TN    THE    CITY 
OF   NEW  YORK. 


VOL.    I. 


NEW  YORK: 
JOHN     S.    TAYLOR, 

THEOLOGICAL  AND  SUNDAY  SCHOOL  BOOKSELLER,  BRICK 
CHURCH  CHAPEL, 


1838 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1833,  by  John  3 
Taylor,  in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Slates,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CO  NTE  NTS. 


No.  I.      The  Church  in  the  Wilderness. 

No.  II.    Reflections  on  the  New  Year. 

No.  III.  The  Inquiring  Meeting. 

No.  IV.  Letter  to  a  Young  Clergyman. 

No.  V.    The  Panorama. 

No.  VI.  Moral  Gradation. 

No.  VII.  The  Useful  Christian. 


INTRODUCTION 


Every  minister  of  the  gospel  who  indulges  himself  in  the 
use  of  his  pen  beyond  his  weekly  preparations  for  the 
pulpit,  has  probably  found  no  small  amount  of  matter 
unexpected 'y  accumulating  upon  his  hands,  which 
though  inappropriate  to  the  services  of  the  Sanctuary,  is 
in  his  partial  judgment  too  valuable  to  be  thrown  away. 
The  writer  of  this  little  volume  challenges  for  it  nothing 
more  than  what  it  purports  to  be. — "  Fragments  from  the 
study  of  a  Pastor."  They  are  truly  parts  broken  off 
from  the  mass — small  detached  portions,  collected  by  an 
occasional  employment  of  those  leisure  hours,  and  frag- 
ments of  time  which  have  remained  after  the  more 
serious  duties  of  the  week  have  been  discharged. 

The  taste  of  the  age  is  too  obviously  unfitted  for 
heavy  reading  and  continuous  thought.  And  yet,  it 
has  been  the  wish  of  the  author  that  these  pages  should 
present  important  truth.  And  he  will  feel  not  a  little 
gratified,  if  the  event  should  justify  the  conclusion  that 
religious  instruction  is  here  conveyed  to  some  minds  to 
which  it  might  otherwise  have  no  access. 

Some  of  the  pieces  here  presented  will  be  recognized 
by  those  who  belong  to  the  author's  pastoral  charge. 
The  first  and   third  were  publicly  read,  several  years 


VI.  INTRODUCTION. 

ago,  at  his  weekly  lecture  of  a  Thursday  evening- 
He  was  solicited  at  the  time  to  publish  them.  They 
have  since  been  revised,  and  however  imperfect,  are,  he 
hopes,  better  adapted  to  do  good. 

The  "  Inquiring  meeting"  is  substantially  founded  in 
fact,  so  far  as  it  regards  the  instances  of  religious  im- 
pression. With  some  exceptions,  of  the  reality  of  which 
the  writer  has  the  most  satisfactory  evidence,  they  have 
all  fallen  under  his  own  immediate  observation.  With 
all  their  incidents,  they  may  be  confided  in  as  a  true 
narrative.  The  letter  to  a  young  clergyman  was  sug. 
gested  by  a  correspondence  with  one  of  his  junior 
brethren  in  the  ministry,  and  was  subsequently  thrown 
into  the  form  of  an  address  to  the  students  of  the 
Theological  Seminary  at  Princeton,  at  their  semi-annual 
examination  in  the  Spring  of  the  present  year. 

The  whole  is  submitted  to  the  public  eye  with  hesita- 
tion, yet  with  some  hope  that  it  may  be  useful.  If  a  single 
child  of  God  should  hereby  be  refreshed  and  comforted; 
if  any  poor  Prodigal  should  be  induced  to  return  to  his 
Father's  house  where  there  is  bread  enough  and  to  spare ; 
if  any  of  the  lambs  of  the  flock  that  have  been  driven 
away  should  be  restored,  or  any  sick  healed;  these  frag- 
ments will  not  have  been  gathered  up  in  vain. 

New  York,  July  1838. 


No.  I 


THE    CHURCH    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

I  was  crossing  a  narrow  strip  of  land  which 
lies  upon  the  frontiers  of  France  and  Italy,  where 
the  Alps,  without  losing  their  loftiness  and  sub- 
limity, begin  to  incline  toward  the  Mediterranean, 
and  occasionally  put  on  an  appearance  of  fresh- 
ness and  verdure.  I  had  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
ascend  Mont  Viso.  Though  not  so  high  as  Mont 
Blanc,  yet  from  its  solitary  and  isolated  position, 
it  presents  a  more  imposing  appearance  of  gran- 
deur. It  stands  almost  alone  ;  and  like  a  colossal 
pyramid,  rises  high  above  the  various  crests,  and 
peaks,  and  ridges  which  surround  its  base.  It 
presented  to  my  mind  the  aspect  of  some  huge 
beacon  towering  amid  the  storm ;  and  the  strange 
irregularity  of  the  scenery  gave  strength  to  the 
impression.  It  seemed  as  though  the  heaving, 
angry  ocean  had  been  here  arrested  in  the  ex- 
treme  fury  of  its  tempest,  and  as  if  the  power 


8  THE    CHURCH 

which  had  caused,  had  suddenly  stilled  its  ter- 
rors, and  bound  it  in  solid  and  enduring  chains. 
Inconstancy  and  change  seemed  strongly  repre- 
sented in  constant  and  changing  forms — the  very 
emblem  of  mutability  fixed  as  it  might  seem  im- 
mutable. 

Already  had  I  ascended  far  up  the  mountain, 
and  all  the  beautiful  plain  of  Italy  was  spread  out 
before  me.  That  immense  reservoir  of  waters, 
that  well-known  extent  of  gardens  and  cities,  of 
wealth  and  splendour,  which  the  heroes  of  ancient 
and  modern  times  pointed  out  to  their  soldiers  as 
the  reward  of  perseverance  and  victory,  glittered 
upon  my  eye.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  on 
the  one  side,  had  once  stood  the  elephants  of 
Hannibal  and  the  armies  of  Francis  the  First ;  on 
the  other,  the  forces  of  Caesar,  Charlemagne,  and 
Napoleon.  So  vivid  was  my  fancy,  it  almost 
seemed  that  I  could  hear  the  sullen  tramp  of  their 
legions ;  and  the  rushing  of  the  streams  around 
me  seemed  disturbed  by  the  fording  of  their 
thronging  cavalry,  and  all  the  tumult  of  a  hurried 
march.  I  looked  almost  to  see  the  Roman  eagle 
hovering  over  their  steps,  or  the  lillies  of  France 
trembling  to  the  mountain  air. 

The  continued  and  almost  unbroken  stillness  of 
the  scene  recalled  me  from  this  vision  of  the  past. 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  9 

All  this  glory  and  greatness  had  departed.  Sooner 
will  the  first  drops  which  issued  from  these  torrents, 
come  back  from  the  vast  ocean  in  which  they  are 
mingled,  and  flow  again  from  their  source,  than 
aught  of  all  this  life  and  renown  return,  to  trouble 
or  astonish  the  scene  on  which  they  once  played 
so  conspicuous  and  interesting  a  part.  Yet  I 
dwelt  long,  and  with  singular  pleasure  on  the 
names  of  those  illustrious  heroes.  And  who  does 
not,  as  he  crosses  the  Alps  7 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  self-reproach  that  I 
turned  at  last  to  think  of  others.  The  glory  and 
splendour  of  this  world  had  first  taken  possession 
of  my  mind,  while  true  worth  and  piety  had  also 
their  monuments  near  me.  I  was  standing  in  the 
retreat  of  the  ancient  Vandois. 


" Few  remember  them.     They  lived  unknown, 

"  Till  persecution  dragged  them  into  fame, 
"And  chased  them  up  to  heaven." 


From  the  eminence  from  which  I  surveyed  them, 
four  beautiful  vallies  spread  themselves  before  me 
something  in  the  form  of  a  fan,  converging  from 
the  distance,  and  terminating  almost  in  a  point 
near  the  spot  where  I  stood.  I  had  heard  of  this 
asylum  of  the  faithful  as  the  region  of  barrenness 


10  THE    CHURCH 

and  ice.  I  had  read  of  it  as  a  desert  environed 
with  frightful  precipices,  and  protected  by  eternal 
snows.  But  such  was  not  the  scene  on  which  I 
gazed.  A  beautiful  sky  spread  its  blue  arch 
above.  The  verdure  was  springing-  from  the  sides 
of  the  mountain,  scantily  it  is  true,  but  for  that  the 
more  welcome.  The  valley  below  seemed  spread 
with  a  carpet  of  rich  emerald,  wrought  in  with 
the  brightest  flowers.  Nor  were  the  light  and  life 
of  civilization  wanting  to  complete  the  picture. 
Scattered  villages  and  villas  were  seen  at  intervals, 
and  every  where  the  vine  and  the  fig  tree  enriched 
the  plain.  The  Po  and  the  Dora  too,  with  their 
almost  innumerable  branches  were  wildly  urging 
their  waters  down  the  rocks  and  through  the 
crevices  of  the  mountains,  till  you  might  see  them 
quietly  stealing  to  the  vallies  and  mingle  with  the 
streams  below. 

I  stood  gazing,  sometimes  at  the  naked  and  bar- 
ren cliffs  of  some  distant  promontory ;  sometimes  at 
mountains  that  lifted  their  snowy  summits  where 
the  eagle  is  never  seen  to  soar ;  and  sometimes  at 
the  enchanting  plain  beneath.  And  are  these  the 
rocks,  said  I,  which  looked  down  upon  those  san- 
guinary persecutions  ?  Are  these  the  mountains 
whence  vibrated  those  songs  of  salvation  that 
indicated  to  the  foe  the  retreut  of  the  faithful  ? 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  1L 

Are  these  the  streams  once  stained  with  the  blood 
of  the  saints  7  Are  these  the  v  allies  from  which 
ascended  in  many  a  mingled  column  the  flames 
of  the  faggot^  the  supplications  and  sighs  of  the 
martyrs,  and  the  fiend-like  exultation  of  their 
destroyers  ?  I  felt  as  though  I  .were  surveying 
the  monuments  of  deeds  in  which  one  scarce 
knows  which  had  the  pre-eminence, — the  faith 
and  constancy  of  the  victims,  or  the  fury  of  their 
fierce  persecutors.  Here  once  dwelt  a  small,  poor, 
forgotten  people ;  a  people,  weak  indeed,  but  full 
of  that  faith  which  wrought  righteousness,  ob- 
tained promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions, 
escaped  the  edge  of  the  sword.  Here  dwelt  a 
people  whose  glory  shone  brightest  in  their  tribu- 
lations, and  to  whom  it  was  entrusted  to  preserve 
the  purity  of  the  faith  through  centuries  of  dark- 
ness, when  barbarous  nations  ravaged  and  de- 
stroyed all  around  them,  making  no  distinction 
between  what  was  sacred  and  what  was  profane. 
And  here  still  dwelt  the  descendants  of  that  same 
people,  in  all  the  peculiarity  of  their  language, 
habits  and  manners,  as  well  as  in  all  the  integrity 
of  that  faith  which  has  survived  the  revolution  of 
empires,  and  which  is  still  destined  to  travel  down 
the  descent  of  time,  and  as  successive  ages  roll  on, 

2* 


12  THE    CHURCH 

exert  a  reforming  and  purifying  influence  over  the 
world. 

And  can  this  be  the  place,  thought  I,  where  the 
"Woman,  described   in   the  Apocalypse,    hath    a 
place  prepared  of  God,  where  she  is  nourished 
for  a  time,  and  times,  and  half  a  time,  from  the 
face  of  the  Serpent  ?     While  this  inquiry  was 
passing  through  my  mind,  I  was  lost  in  contem- 
plation.    My  thoughts  became  irregular  and  wild. 
My  imagination  wandered,  I  knew  not  whither. 
Whether  it  were  that  sleep  overtook  me  on  the 
mountain,  and  what  followed  was  the  fancy  of  a 
dream,  or  whether  a  waking  vision  occupied  my 
senses,  I  am  unable  to  tell.     1  seemed  raised  in 
spirit  above  the  world ;  and  yet  my  hopes  and 
fears  were  strangely  connected  with  its  spiritual 
welfare  and  prosperity.     A  subject  upon  which  I 
had    thought,   and   read,   and    conversed    often, 
weighed  upon  my  bosom,  and  filled  it  with  deep 
and  serious  reflection.     My  anxious  mind  brooded 
over  it,  as  some  busy,  restless  fancy,  waking  to 
the  roar  of  the   tempest,  pictures  to  itself  evils 
which  nothing  can  remedy  or  relieve. 

I  trembled  for  the  Ark  of  God.  Errors,  deeply 
ruinous  in  doctrine  and  practice,  were  inducing 
desolation  and  decay.  A  smooth  theology  had 
taken  the  place  of  those  wholesome  truths  which 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  13 

have  in  every  age  been  the  wisdom  of  God,  and 
the  power  of  God  to  salvation.  The  meekness  of 
wisdom  was  superseded  by  a  vaunting  and  arro- 
gant spirit ;  and  means  and  measures  were  making 
progress  in  the  church,  which  threatened  to  burn 
over  her  fairest  borders,  and  leave  them  like  a 
land  that  could  not  be  tilled,  or  sown,  or  eared,  or 
harvested  for  generations  to  come.  I  saw  col- 
lisions of  sentiment  distracting:  the  minds  and  di- 

CD 

viding  the  counsels  of  those  who  were  once 
joined  together  in  the  same  mind  and  the  same 
judgment.  I  saw  also  chilling  alienations  among 
those  who  once  loved  as  brethren  ;  while  the 
peaceful  spirit  who  had  so  long  hovered  over  this 
fair  land,  was  just  about  to  spread  his  pinions  and 
fly  away.  Already,  the  ways  of  Zion  mourned 
because  few  came  to  her  solemn  feasts.  Already 
the  streams  of  mercy  seemed  to  be  drying  up, 
which  have  for  so  long  a  period  been  refreshing 
our  heritage  and  bearing  on  their  bosom  the  bles- 
sings of  salvation  to  distant  lauds.  From  the 
daughter  of  Zion  all  her  beauty  was  departed. 
Her  princes  were  become  like  harts  that  find  no 
pasture  ;  and  they  were  gone  without  strength 
before  the  pursuer.  I  thought  of  her  in  the  days 
of  her  captivity  and  reproach,  when  she  hung  her 
harp  upon  the  willows,  and  wept.    I  remembered. 


14  THE    CHURCH 

and  could  not  forbear  uttering  aloud,  that  affecting 
lamentation  of  the  Prophet,  How  hath  the  Lord 
covered  the  daughter  of  Zion  with  a  cloud  in  his 
anger,  and  cast  down  from  heaven  unto  earth 
the  beauty  of  Israel,  and  remembered  not  his 
footstool  in  the  day  of  his  anger. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  occupied  me  in 
my  reverie.  And  they  were  not  without  close 
connexion  and  sympathy  with  those  which  had 
often  disturbed  me  in  my  hours  of  waking  reflec- 
tion. The  day  seemed  dark  and  gloomy  like  one 
in  November.  The  sun  was  enveloped  in  clouds, 
and  the  rough  north  wind  roared  around  me.  I 
was  by  the  side  of  a  lofty,  weather-beaten  moun- 
tain. Its  top  seemed  to  support  the  heavens,  and 
its  brow  frowned  over  a  deep,  expansive  wilder- 
ness, impervious  to  the  eye,  and  immeasurable  in 
extent.  It  appeared  at  first  view  as  one  vast 
desert,  where  was  no  trace  of  human  footsteps, 
and  where  no  man  dwelt. 

As  I  was  walking  to  and  fro  with  a  mind  almost 
as  cheerless  as  the  rugged  cliffs  around  me,  sud- 
denly a  chorus  of  superhuman  voices  filled  the 
air.  The  words  of  their  song  fell  distinctly  upon 
my  ear,  clear  and  sweet  as  from  instruments  of 
silver.  They  chanted,  Who  is  this  that  cometh  up 
from  the  wilderness,  leaning  upon  her  Beloved  ? 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  15 

As  I  turned  to  look  toward  the  desert,  I  beheld 
a  female  form  of  distinguished  attractions  and 
beauty,  leaning  on  One  like  unto  the  Son  of 
Man.  Her  countenance  was  expressive  of  intelli- 
gence and  sweetness.  Her  mien  was  humble,  yet 
a  peculiar  dignity  shone  in  her  every  action,  and 
her  entire  appearance  seemed  pre-eminently  fitted 
to  please  and  captivate.  I  had  heard  of  One 
dwelling  in  the  wilderness,  whom  the  tongues  of 
inspired  men  and  angels  had  represented  as  clothed 
with  celestial  comeliness  and  decked  with  beauty 
from  the  skies — a  wanderer  in  the  desert,  but  not 
alone  ;  hand  in  hand  with  One  more  powerful 
than  herself,  she  had  her  course  through  its  strife 
and  temptations.  As  my  eye  rested  upon  her  for 
the  purpose  of  scanning  her  person  more  carefully, 
that  I  might  satisfy  myself  if  this  were  indeed  she 
of  whom  I  had  heard,  I  saw  that  she  was  envel- 
oped in  a  dense  and  hazy  atmosphere,  through 
which  a  pale  light  beamed  from  her  countenance 
and  clothed  her  form,  and  seemed  every  where 
struggling  to  dart  forth  its  rays.  For  the  moment 
it  seemed  doubtful  whether  she  would  not  be  mer- 
ged in  the  obscurity  ;  but  the  mist  was  soon  dissi- 
pated, a&d  she  looked  forth  like  the  moon  walking 
in  her  brightness,  luminous  in  her  entire  form, 


16  THE    CHURCH 

and,  like  the  angel  standing  in  the  sun,  con- 
spicuous to  the  world. 

I  observed  that  her  features  were  in  part  covered 
with  a  veil.  She  had  an  humble,  lowly  spirit, 
and  though  in  the  full  power  of  youth  and  beauty, 
seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  her  attractions. 
She  had  no  desire  of  superiority  or  distinction  ; 
no  undue  assumption  of  dignity  ;  no  spirit  of  am- 
bition or  rivalry.  She  did  not  court  applause,  nor 
was  she  offended  at  rebuke.  She  sought  not  the 
eye  of  the  world,  neither  delighted  in  its  bustle 
and  confusion ;  but  rather  in  the  shade  and 
stillness  of  some  beloved  retreat,  open  only  to  the 
observation,  and  consecrated  only  by  the  presence 
of  her  Lord  and  Husband.  At  times  she  instinct- 
ively shrunk  from  his  inspection,  and  hid  her  face 
in  confusion.  Nor  was  there  in  this  any  affecta- 
tion of  modesty,  but  a  deep  and  ingenuous  impres- 
sion of  her  unworthiness  that  oppressed  her,  and 
often  indeed  found  its  way  to  her  lips.  Look  not 
upon  me,  she  would  exclaim,  Look  not  upon  me, 
because  the  Sun  hath  looked  upon  me !  One  of 
her  loveliest  characteristics,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
was  this  humble,  meek,  and  retiring  spirit.  Her 
progress  was  often  rapid,  yet  was  it  noiseless  and 
silent  as  the  dew  of  heaven.  Wherever  she  took 
a  false  step,  she  herself  was  the  first  to  detect  it, 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  17 

and  prompt  and  faithful  in  her  self-reproach. 
Rather  than  feel  that  she  was  worthy  to  be  the 
object  of  admiration,  many  a  time  would  she  lay 
her  hand  upon  her  mouth  and  exclaim,  Behold  I 
am  vile !  There  was  a  lowliness  of  demeanor 
exemplified  in  her  progress  that  reminded  me  of 
the  spirit  of  genuine  piety.  She  seemed  at  such 
a  remove  from  the  haughty,  overbearing  temper 
of  the  world,  that  I  concluded  she  belonged  to 
another  race  of  beings.  For  nothing  did  I  envy 
her  so  'much  as  for  this  unearthly  spirit. 

And  can  this  be  she,  thought  I,  of  whom  I  have 
so  often  read,  that  was  cast  out  into  the  open 
field  to  the  loathing  of  her  person,  in  the  day 
that  she  was  born  1  If  so,  nothing  could  be  more 
striking  than  the  contrast  between  her  orio-inal 
condition,  her  debased  parentage,  and  her  present 
elevation  and  prospects.  She  was  like  one  who 
had  sustained  a  moral  transformation,  and  had 
been,  as  it  were,  recreated  and  born  anew.  Once 
poor  and  miserable,  and  blind  and  naked,  she 
was  now  clothed  with  embroidered  work,  girded 
about  with  fine  linen,  covered  with  silk,  and 
decked  with  ornaments.  Though  her  birth  and 
nativity  were  of  the  land  of  Canaan;  though 
her  father  was  a  Hittite  and  her  mother  an  Amo- 
rite ;  yet  she  was  now  allied  to  a  family  that  parti- 


18  THE    CHURCH 

cipates  the  riches  and  royalty  of  a  nobler  world, 
and  her  renown  went  forth  among  the  nations 
for  her  beauty.  She  was  the  child  of  God — the 
adopted  daughter  of  the  king  of  heaven.  Her 
second  birth  traced  her  lineage  to  the  skies ; — 
born,  not  of  blood,  nor  of  the  will  of  the  flesh, 
nor  of  the  will  of  man,  but  of  God.  She 
had  no  unborrowed  splendor,  yet  was  she  coi 
with  righteousness  as  with  a  garment,  and 
prepared  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  / 
band.  Though  once  soiled  and  blemished  by 
her  native  servitude  ;  though  abject  in  her  occupa- 
tion and  associates  ;  yet  was  she  now  as  the 
wings  of  a  dove  covered  with  silver  and  her  fea- 
thers with  yellow  gold.  My  own  impressions  of 
her  loveliness  were  confirmed  by  what  I  distinctly 
heard  from  the  lips  of  her  royal  husband.  Behold, 
said  he,  thou  art  fair,  my  love,  behold  thou  art 
fair.  My  dove,  my  undejiled  is  but  one ;  she  is 
the  only  one  of  her  mother  ;  she  is  the  choice  one 
of  her  that  bare  her.  Sometimes  he  spoke  of  the 
tenderness  of  her  attachment ;  sometimes  of  her 
purity  and  faithfulness  ;  and  sometimes  breaking 
forth  in  the  language  of  gratified  joy,  he  exclaimed, 
Thou  art  all  fair,  my  love,  there  is  no  spot  in  thee! 
Filled  with  admiration,  I  could  not  but  again 
exclaim,  Who  is  this  ?— so  depraved  in  her  na- 


IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  19 

tivity,  and  yet  so  exalted  in  her  adoption — so  im- 
pure in  her  original,  and  yet  so  pure  in  her  trans- 
formation— so  heaven  born,  so  acknowledged  and 
endeared  to  higher  worlds,  and  yet  in  her  own 
view  so  worthless  ?  The  answer  was  quickly 
upon  my  lips.  Who  but  the  church  of  the  First 
Born  ! — the  spiritual  Jerusalem  from  God  out  of 
heaven — the  Bride,  the  LamVs  Wife  !  Who 
but  that  complex,  ornate  and  lovely  Personage, 
who  is  a  lively  emblem,  a  typical  designation  of 
the  virtuous  of  every  age  and  name,  here  embodied 
and  personified  by  the  daughter  of  Zion  travelling 
in  the  greatness  of  her  sirengtlu 

This  amiable  and  fair  being  I  beheld  far  from 
the  abodes  of  men,  in  the  waste,  howling  desert. 
She  had  no  continuing  city.  She  was  away 
from  home,  often  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest, 
and  not  comforted.  The  place  where  she  so- 
journed was  a  place  of  vicissitude  and  woe. 
There  were  no  sorrows  like  her  sorrows,  and  a 
stranger  did  not  intermeddle  with  her  joy.  Here 
she  stretched  forth  her  hands  unto  God,  and  her 
soul  thirsted  for  him,  as  a  thirsty  land  for  the 
grateful  and  ever  welcome  rain.  Here  she  met 
with  delays,  hindrances,  and  vexations.  The 
powers  of  darkness  were  leagued  against  her, 
combining  their  strength  and  subtlety  to  perplex 

3 


20  THE     CHURCH 

and  embitter  her  mind,  to  retard  her  progress,  and 
effect  her  destruction.  She  was  passing  through 
an  enemy's  land,  and  had  put  on  the  whole  ar- 
mour of  God.  Without  were  fightings,  and 
within  w>  ere  fears.  External  foes,  and  indwelling 
sins,  distracting  cares,  painful  bereavements,  and 
a  subtle  adversary  often  filled  her  with  despon- 
dency, and  spoiled  her  every  earth-born  hope. 

I  observed  that  she  did  not  always  know  how 
to  explore  her  path,  and  that  she  sometimes  for- 
sook her  guide  and  wandered  from  the  way. 
Then  she  was  depressed  and  discouraged,  and  in^ 
stead  of  going  cheerfully  forward,  would  stray  up 
and  down  in  the  wilderness.  And  then  her 
courage  faltered,  her  strength  languished,  and  her 
beauty  withered.  Many  a  time,  at  such  seasons, 
would  she  sit  down  and  weep  with  abundant  sor- 
row, and  exclaim  as  though  all  hope  had  deserted 
her,  My  heart  is  overwhelmed  within  one  !  All 
thy  waves  and  billows  are  gone  over  my  soul ! 
The  wilderness  too  was  long,  and  she  was  often 
wearied  by  the  length  of  the  way.  Sometimes  she 
trembled,  and  seemed  on  the  point  of  fainting  or 
falling  ;  and  then  again  she  would  press  forward, 
now  with  a  bold,  and  now  with  a  doubtful  step. 

Here  she  wandered  amid  the  gloom  and  dark- 
ness of  the  desert.     Here  she  had  a  place  pre- 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  21 

pared  for  her  by  God.  With  his  own  hands,  he 
spread  a  table  for  her.  The  rock  supplied  her, 
and  the  manna  descended.  She  fed  on  ano-el's 
food,  and  ate  the  bread  of  life.  The  pillar  and 
the  cloud  moved  before  her.  The  God  of  Israel 
himself  was  with  her, — a  friend  in  need,  a  refuge 
in  times  of  trouble.  In  his  mercy  and  care,  in  his 
power  and  faithfulness,  she  had  resources  which 
never  failed.  She  sometimes  grieved  him,  but  he 
never  abandoned  her.  He  seemed  to  have  no 
employment  so  delightful  to  his  heart,  as  to  care 
for  her.  He  would  watch  her  every  step.  He  would 
often  throw  around  her  the  arms  of  his  protection 
to  save  her  even  from  imaginary  harm.  He 
would  spread  his  banner  of  love  over  her,  and 
support  her  from  step  to  step  in  all  her  course.  I 
heard  him  say  to  her,  I  gave  Egypt  for  thy  ran- 
som, Ethiopia  and  >Seba  for  thee.  /Since  thou 
wast  precious  in  my  sight,  I  have  loved  thee  ; 
therefore  will  I  give  men  for  thee,  and  people  for 
thy  life.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  would  blot  out 
all  the  nations,  that  he  would  crush  a  thousand 
worlds,  before  one  hair  of  her  head  should  fall  to 
the  ground. 

And  yet  there  were  sensible  alternations  in  her 
spirit  and  condition.  Sometimes  she  looked  for 
light,  and  beheld  darkness,  and  for  good,  and 


22  THE     CHURCH 

behold  trouble  and  vexation ;  and  then  again, 
her  most  chilling  fears  were  turned  into  hopes, 
and  her  deepest  sorrows  into  joy.  Sometimes 
her"  prospect  was  gilded  by  all  the  varied  tints 
of  Spring,  and  all  the  rich  maturity  of  Autumn  ; 
while  sometimes  the  snows  of  Winter  swept 
along  her  path,  and  night  enshrouded  it  with 
gloom.  At  times,  the  skies  above  her  were  soft  and 
serene  ;  at  times,  they  were  black  and  heavy, 
— lowering  with  tempest,  and  dark  with  in- 
dignation. Her  path  now  lay  through  beds  of 
spices,  and  along  the  fruits  of  the  valley,  which 
the  forest  enriched  with  its  softest  foliage ;  where 
the  murmur  of  the  running  streams,  and  the  light 
breezes  cheered  and  refreshed  her,  and  every 
odour,  charged  with  fragrance,  brought  pleasure  to 
her  senses  ;  and  again  she  was  constrained,  amid 
the  wildness  of  the  precipices  and  the  roar  of  the 
tempest,  to  pass  along  the  liorts  dens  and  the 
mountains  of  the  leopards. 

As  I  was  attentively  observing  her,  a  beam  of 
light  fell  on  her  path,  at  a  moment  when  the 
darkness  had  increased  around  her,  and  when  de- 
spondency seemed  almost  to  overwhelm  her  soul. 
All  at  once  her  countenance  became  bright, 
and  though  still  pensive,  she  pursued  her  course 
with  revived  strength  and  freshness.     Something 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  23 

had  roused  her  from  her  depression  and  put  new 
courage  into  her  heart.  It  was  the  voice  of  her 
Beloved.  A  multitude  of  conflicting  emotions 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  agitate  her  bosom. 
They  were  emotions  of  surprise,  of  joy,  and  of 
grief.  Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fail*  One,  said  he, 
and  come  away !  For  lo,  the  Winter  is  past, 
the  rain  is  over  and  gone.  The  flowers  appear 
on  the  earth  ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is 
come,  and  the  song  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in 
our  land.  Arise,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and 
come  away !  At  this  well-known  voice,  a  tear 
stood  in  her  eye.  She  looked  on  him  whom  she 
had  pierced  and  mourned.  I  heard  her  confes- 
sions of  folly,  and  promises  of  faithfulness,  and 
felt  that  I  could  make  them  my  own.  My  soul 
melted  within  me,  and  flowed  forth  in  her  every 
tear.  Never  shall  I  forget  when  she  hid  herself 
from  his  sight,  as  though  fearful  of  his  reproaches, 
and  bewailed  her  departures  from  him  whom  her 
soul  loved.  Then  it  was  that  I  heard  him  say, 
O  my  dove,  that  art  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  let 
me  see  thy  countenance,  let  me  hear  thy  voice , 
for  sweet  is  thy  voice,  and  thy  countenance  is 
comely !  Then  it  was  that  he  allured  her  and 
spake  comfortably  unto  her,  and  gave  her  the 
valley  of  Achor  for  a  door  of  hope,  and  she  sang 


24  THE     CHURCH 

there  as  in  the  days  of  her  youth.  There  did  he 
wipe  away  the  tears  from  her  cheeks,  and  cheer 
her  with  the  promise  of  his  favour ;  while  she. 
animated  and  buoyant  with  warm  affection  and 
eager  hopes,  was  once  more  like  a  roe,  or  young 
hart  upon  the  mountains  of  Bether.  For  the  mo- 
ment, she  forgot  that  she  was  in  the  wilderness. 
She  remembered  not  that  she  was  far  from  her 
destined  home,  so  much  did  the  presence  of  him 
she  thus  loved  smooth  her  path  along  the  desert, 
and  render  her  sojourn  amid  its  wilds  a  season  of 
happiness  and  security. 

This  endured  not  long.  Dark  clouds  again  en- 
folded her,  the  scene  put  off  its  charms,  and  the 
way  before  her  was  curtained  with  its  wonted 
gloom.  There  was  nothing  here  to  allure  her 
stay,  nothing  suited  to  her  large  desires,  nothing 
that  could  become  the  source  of  her  blessedness, 
or  the  place  of  her  repose.  Nor  was  she 
either  alarmed  or  surprised  by  the  oft-repeated  ad- 
monition, Arise,  and  depart  hence,  for  this  is  not 
your  rest,  because  it  is  polluted  ;  for  as  often  did 
she  herself  respond,  O  that  I  had  wings  like  a 
dove,  for  then  xoould  I  fly  away  and  be  at  rest ! 
To  her  hallowed  mind,  the  place  of  her  pilgrimage 
presented  nothing  but  a  wilderness,  which  she 
longed  to  leave  behind  her.     Communion  with 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  25 

her  Lord  had  rendered  it  at  times  a  place  of  de- 
lightful remembrance  ;  but  she  well  knew  that  a 
higher  abode  was  awaiting  her.  where  she  should 
enjoy  his  presence  uninterruptedly  and  forever. 
There  was  her  treasure,,  and  there  her  heart, 
Her  conversation  was  there.  Her  ardent  desires, 
her  highest  good  was  there.  Heaven  absorbed  her 
attention,  awakened  her  highest  affections  and 
passions,  and  exhausted  the  vigour  of  her  mind. 
Her  very  sorrows  and  griefs  indicated  the  aspi^ 
rations  and  tendencies  of  her  mind.  Like  the  mag- 
netic needle,  amid  all  the  variations  of  a  transient 
conflict,  or  passing  storm,  her  heart  exhibited  a 
trembling  agitation  till  it  reposed  in  one  unchang- 
ing point  of  rest.  There  were  moments  when  her 
faith,  with  more  than  ordinary  vividness,  realised 
the  unseen  world,  when  a  hope  full  of  immortality 
shed  its  fragrance  over  her  spirits,  and  made  her 
long  for  the  promised  land.  And  then,  habitually 
watchful  of  the  pillar  and  the  cloud,  regardless  of 
obstacles  and  fearless  of  danger,  onward  she  went 
from  conquering  to  conquer.  The  circuities  and 
vicissitudes  of  her  path  might  at  times  bewil- 
der her  ;  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery,  or  its  soft- 
ness and  beauty  might  for  a  moment  allure  her  ; 
but  her  aim  was  fixed, — the  object  single  to 
which  she  aspired.     Forgetting  the  things  that 


26 


THE    CHURCH 


were  behind,  and  reaching  forth  to  those  which 
were  before,  she  pressed  toward  the  mark  for 
the  prize  of  the  high  calling  of  God  in  Jesus 
Christ.  It  was  the  way  to  the  Heavenly  City, 
and  she  could  not  turn  back.  It  was  the  only 
way,  and  she  could  not  forego  the  expectation  of 
that  imperishable  inheritance. 

I  stood  awhile  wondering  at  her  zeal  and  sted- 
fastness,  but  my  wonder  ceased  when  I  recollected 
that  she  was  not  alone.  She  leaned  on  One  who 
seemed  more  than  mortal. 

"In  his  side  he  bore, 
"  And  in  his  hands  and  feet  the  cruel  scars," 

He  it  was  who  bore  her  griefs,  carried  her  sorrows, 
and  even  made  her  sins  his  own.  It  was  her 
Lord — her  Husband — her  Life — her  Sacrifice.  It 
was  he  who  liveth  and  was  dead,  and  is  alive  for 
evermore,  to  succour  and  bless  his  church  when  all 
the  nations  die.  I  saw  the  secret  of  her  strength. 
Her  life  was  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  Though 
she  was  perfect  weakness,  she  had  omnipotence  to 
lean  upon.  Experience  had  taught  her  her  own 
insufficiency,  and  she  lived  by  faith  in  hint  who 
loved  her,  and  gave  himself  for  her.  I  was  not  a 
little  interested  in  this  view  of  her  progress. 
Literally  did  she  come  up  from  the  ivilderness, 
leaning  upon  her  Beloved.    She  did  not  move 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  27 

a  step  without  him.  She  did  not  wait  for  him  to 
lead  her,  but  went  forward  leaning  upon  him. 
When  she  stood  still,  she  always  stood  alone. 
Once  I  saw  her  so  depressed  and  weary,  that  she 
sunk, to  the  earth ;  and  then  he  took  her  up  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  like  a  lamb  in  his  bosom. 
Thus  she  pursued  her  way — for  the  most  part 
wakeful,  active,  persevering, — and  yet  ever  lean- 
ing upon  him.  The  influence  under  which  she 
acted,  seemed  a  sort  of  charm  upon  her  will,  and 
drew  her  with  the  cords  of  love  as  with  the  bands 
of  a  man.  It  was  her  joy,  as  well  as  her  strength. 
It  gave  buoyancy  to  her  hopes,  and  inspired  her 
with  the  confidence  that  he  would  keep  her 
from  falling  and  bear  her  safely  through.  When 
by  some  strong  temptation,  she  lost  sight  of 
her  dependance,  most  bitterly  was  she  made  to  re- 
pent of  her  self-confidence  and  folly.  Then  it  was 
that  her  time  was  spent  in  retracing  and  recover- 
ing the  ground  she  had  lost,  and  bemoaning  her  sad 
condition.  Many  a  time  has  she  then  exclaimed, 
O  that  it  were  with  me  as  in  months  past,  ivhen 
the  candle  of  the  Lord  shone  upon  my  head ! 
But  these  seasons  of  self-reproach  and  pensiveness 
were  comparatively  few.  Habitually  she  looked 
beyond  all  created  things,  felt  herself  to  be  his 
creature  and  child,  subject  to  his  guidance  and 


28  THE    CHURCH 

control,  dependant  on  his  strength  and  grace. 
Never  did  she  delight  in  her  dependance  more, 
than  during  the  seasons  of  her  greatest  vigor,  her 
most  rapid  progress.  Never  could  she  say  with  a 
more  comforted  confidence,  than  in  her  most  suc- 
cessful victories,  My  soul,  wait  thou  upon  God, 
for  my  expectation  is  from  him  ! 

I  thought  I  saw  the  heavenly  axiom  verified,  / 
love  them  that  love  me.  By  nothing  was  her 
guide  and  patron  more  distinguished  than  his  love 
for  her,  and  by  nothing  was  she  more  distinguished 
than  her  love  to  him.  In  strains  sweet  as  angels 
use,  I  often  heard  her  sing,  My  beloved  is  the 
chief  among  ten  thousands !  Yea,  he  is  alto- 
gether lovely  !  On  him  she  placed  her  fondest 
affection,  and  reposed  her  every  hope.  Her  love 
was  confiding  and  unsuspicious  ;  her  confidence 
filial  and  even  childlike.  Sometimes  you  might 
see  her  reclining  under  the  shadow  of  his  favour 
with  great  delight ;  sometimes  lamenting  his 
absence  and  watching  for  his  return  ;  sometimes 
traversing  with  him  the  loftiest  mountains,  and 
sometimes  exploring  the  vineyards  to  see  if  the 
vine  flourish  and  the  tender  grape  appear.  If 
difficulties  opposed,  or  dangers  threatened,  or  ene- 
mies stood  ready  to  devour  ;  his  grace  was  suf- 
ficient for  her,  his  strength  ivas  made  perfect  in 


IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  29 

her  iveakness,  his  presence  was  her  chief  joy. 
Leaning  on  him,  she  escaped  the  dangers  of  the 
wilderness,  ascended  the  steepest  mountains,  stood 
safe  on  the  brink  of  the  angry  precipice,  penetrated 
hideous  forests,  resisted  and  overcame  the  fiercest 
beasts  of  prey.  With  her  eye  on  him  and  all  her 
trust  in  him,  she  continued  her  course.  And 
while  the  youth  became  faint  and  ivere  weary ',  and 
the  young  men  had  utterly  fallen,  she  renewed 
her  strength;  in  heavenly  contemplation,  she 
mounted  up  with  wings  as  an  eagle,  and  through 
all  her  course  of  duty  and  of  trial,  she  ran 
and  was  not  weary,  and  walked  and  did  not 
faint.  While  others  were  intimidated  by  dangers, 
or  discouraged  by  difficulty,  or  lost  sight  of  their 
Leader ;  she  pressed  forward,  because  her  courage 
was  inspirited  from  above,  and  her  exertion  had 
a  spring,  a  source,  an  energy  not  her  own.  The 
dangers  and  trials  of  the  wilderness  were  gradually 
left  behind  her,  and  remembered  only  to  enhance 
her  gratitude  and  perpetuate  her  praise. 

I  observed,  that  in  leaning  upon  her  Beloved, 
she  was  often  led  in  a  way  that  she  knew  not,  and 
in  paths  that  she  had  not  known.  She  seemed 
to  be  under  a  sort  of  discipline,  designed  to  subdue 
her  will  to  an  unconditional  acquiescence  ill  his  : 
to  chastise  her  self-confidence,  and  teach  her  to 


30  THE    CHURCH 

walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight.  Like  the  Father 
of  the  faithful,  she  went  forth  not  knowing 
whither  she  went.  She  knew  not  whither  she 
was  going  the  next  hour,  the  next  moment,  the 
next  step.  It  was  her  province  to  follow,  not  to 
lead  ;  to  obey,  not  to  dictate.  Her  hopes  and  fears 
were  both  subject  to  disappointment.  She  was 
journeying  in  a  weary  land,  and  beheld  the  way 
stretching  out  almost  immeasurably  before  her 
and  lengthening  as  she  proceeded.  Often  was 
she  conducted  by  a  very  diversified  course — some- 
times amid  scenes  of  mercy,  and  sometimes  amid 
scenes  of  judgment — now  amid  well  watered 
meadows,  and  now  over  dry  and  barren  lands — 
now  to  mountains  whence  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  promised  inheritance,  and  now  to  some  low 
valley  where  the  light  of  heaven  scarcely  pene- 
trated. Her  path  was  chequered  and  variable,  like 
the  path  of  human  life.  It  was  perpetually  chang- 
ing— rousing  her  attention  when  she  was  care- 
less— reminding  her  of  her  obligations  when  she 
was  ungrateful — recalling  her  confidence  when 
she  had  placed  it  upon  creatures.  Her  disposition 
was  thus  tried,  and  her  character  formed.  Many 
a  time  what  she  thought  her  best  seasons,  proved 
her  worst ;  and  what  she  thought  her  worst, 
proved  her  best ;  till,  by  an  alternately  painful  and 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  31 

joyful  experience,  she  learned  to  repose  all  her 
confidence  in  her  Redeemer,  and  to  have  no  will 
but  his.  I  had  not  seen  such  a  spirit  among  men. 
The  storms  of  life  had  driven  her  to  this  wilder- 
ness ;  there  to  live  eminently  above  the  world  and 
walk  with  God.  There  was  a  tenderness,  a  meek- 
ness, and  submission,  a  love,  a  gratitude,  a  cheer- 
fulness which  evinced  that  she  was  not  long  to  be 
an  inhabitant  of  earth. 

I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  What  a  glorious 
object  is  this  which  I  behold!  The  church  of  the 
First  Born  struggling  through  this  world, — this 
moral  wilderness, — is  a  spectacle  to  God,to  angels 
and  men.  This  humble  and  lovely  Personage, 
thought  I,  may  well  be  the  object  of  concern,  of 
solicitude,  of  admiration.  While  this  reflection 
was  passing  in  my  mind  ;  a  multitude  of  voices, 
issuing  I  knew  not  whence,  repeated  the  song, 
Who  is  this  that  cometh  up  from  the  wilderness, 
leaning  upon  her  Beloved  ?  I  turned  to  ascertain 
who  they  were  that  spoke,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  atmosphere  around  and  above  her  was  fil- 
led with  living  beings.  They  were  of  various  des- 
criptions and  orders,  very  dissimilar  in  their  ap- 
pearance, but  all  deeply  interested  in  the  progress 
and  condition  of  this  daughter  of  Zion.  There 
was  a  peculiarity  about  her  person,  her  professions, 

4 


32  THE    CHURCH 

her  claims,  her  prospects,  that  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  inhabitants  of  this  lower  world.  She  dis* 
claimed  the  authority  of  its  maxims  and  usages. 
She  declined  its  pleasures,  and  all  participation  in 
its  unhallowed  amusements.  And  she  would  not 
needlessly,  even  intermingle  with  its  society.  She 
came  out  and  was  separate,  that  all  might  know 
what  immunities  she  challenged,  and  of  what  in- 
heritance she  was  the  expectant. 

She  was  like  a  city  set  on  an  hill.  None  could 
help  seeing  her  ;  none  could  view  her  with  indif- 
ference. Good  men  beheld  her,  as  identified  with 
the  glory  of  the  Redeemer,  as  identifying  their 
own  happiness  and  glory  with  hers,  as  embodying 
the  best  interests  of  mankind  in  this  world  and 
that  which  is  to  come.  Though  now  depressed, 
they  saw  that  soon  she  was  to  be  triumphant,  soon 
to  behold  her  sons  coming  from  far,  and  her 
daughters  from  the  end  of  the  world;  and  though 
still  bearing  the  marks  of  imperfection  and  servi- 
tude, e'er  long  to  share  the  kingdoms  of  this  world 
with  her  Prince,  and  wear  a  diadem  of  gold. 

Bad  men  beheld  her,  sometimes  to  wonder  at 
the  peculiarity  of  her  condition — a  feeble  woman 
coming  up  from  the  wilderness,  leaning  upon  her 
beloved  !  Sometimes  to  admire  her  beauty,  for  she 
was  comely  as  Jerusalem,  and  the  fairest  among 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  33 

women  ;  sometimes  to  acknowledge  her  influence 
and  power,  for  she  was  terrible  as  an  army  with 
banners  ;  sometimes  to  feel  the  reproach  of  her 
example,  for  though  shining  in  borrowed  splendor, 
yet  was  she  the  light  of  the  world  ;  sometimes  to 
be  envious  at  her  allotment,  for  the  smile  of  hea- 
ven played  upon  her  countenance,  and  the  solitary 
place  was  glad  for  her:  And  sometimes  to  hate 
her  with  perfect  hatred,  to  vex  and  injure  her,  to 
persecute,  and  if  possible  destroy  her. 

I  saw  also  a  multitude  of  living  spirits  hovering 
over  her  path  and  near  her  person.  They  were 
messengers  from  a  higher  world — an  exalted  order 
of  beings,  and  seemed  to  have  come  from  the  pre- 
sence of  God.  Their  countenances  were  like 
lightning,  and  their  raiment  white  as  snow.  They 
possessed  wonderful  power  and  activity,  and  mo- 
ved with  the  swiftness  of  the  wind.  They  were 
beautiful  also  beyond  a  parallel — clothed  with 
unfading  and  immortal  youth,  and  glowing  with 
the  energy  and  ardour  of  truth  and  love.  I  saw 
them  lifting  up  their  hands — spreading  forth  their 
wings — and  apparently  in  sweet  discourse  with 
one  another  as  they  watched  her  progress.  Now, 
they  would  stoop  down  and  bend  their  faces  to- 
wards the  ground  to  observe  her.  Again,  they 
would  fly  through  the  air  and  return,  as  though 


34  THE    CHURCH 

from  some  unknown  region  whither  they  had 
gone  to  tell  of  her  conquests.  At  times,  they 
would  range  themselves  in  throngs  and  companies, 
and  strike  their  lyres  and  tune  their  hymns  of 
praise  One  particularly,  I  observed,  of  elevated 
mein  and  resplendent  countenance,  who  hovered 
around  her  head,  so  near  indeed  that  the  vivid 
light  that  enveloped  her,  coloured  and  tinged  his 
form,  covering  both  as  with  a  mantle  of  celestial 
splendour.  With  his  finger  he  pointed  towards 
Heaven  and  said,  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear 
heard,  nor  hath  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  the 
things  that  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that 
love  him ! 

I  saw  too  dark  and  benighted  spirits,  irritated 
with  malignity,  corroded  with  envy,  and  scarred 
by  God's  indignation,  come  up  as  it  were  out  of 
the  earth,  and  alight  about  her.  I  trembled  for 
her  safety,  for  it  seemed  to  me  they  came  with 
great  wrath,  as  though  they  knew  they  had  but 
a  short  time.  I  was  reassured  however  by  the 
calm  and  confident  mein  with  which  she  looked 
around,  as  though  certain  of  protection  from  One 
mightier  than  they.  And  then  I  heard  the  clash- 
ing of  arms,  and  saw  the  rushing  of  battle.  In 
the  tumultuous  conflict  which  ensued,  I  could 
distinguish  voices  of  fiend-like  rage  and  despair,  the 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  35 

answer  of  exulting,  indignant  courage  mingled 
together,  and  at  times  the  startling  cry  of  some 
wounded,  fallen  combatant,  resounding  faint  and 
fainter,  as  though  borne  and  hurried  down  to  earth's 
very  centre.  With  what  deep  interest  did  I  await 
the  result !  Yet  I  did  not  fear  for  it.  Soon  the  noise 
of  strife  gave  place  to  shouts  of  victory.  And 
from  the  sweet  notes  of  praise — praise  to  him  who 
is  seated  upon  the  throne, — I  knew  they  were 
from  the  victorious  company  who  are  ministering 
spirits  to  them  that  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation, 
and  to  whom  the  church  was  the  object  of  unre- 
mitting care. 

I  saw  also,  that  God  her  mighty  Maker  regarded 
her.     More  than  all  things  else,  did  she  illustrate 
his  ineffable  glory.  He  beheld  her  clothed  with  his 
own  loveliness.     He  rejoiced  over  her  with  joy  ; 
he  joyed  over  her  with  singing.    As  a  bridegroom 
rejoiceth  over  his  bride,  so  did  her  God  rejoice 
over  her.     God  her  Redeemer  was  with  her — her 
shelter  and  shade,  her  glory  and  the  lifter  up  of 
her  head.     God  her  Sanctifier  too  had  his  dwell- 
ing within  her  heart,  and  made  her  his  Temple  ; 
while   the   ever    blessed    and  glorious    Trinity, 
through  her,  made  impressive  and  augmenting 
discoveries  of  his  own  excellence. 

4* 


36  THE    CHURCH 

Next  to  her  glorious  Lord,  no  object  so  well  de- 
served, or  might  so  well  attract  attention,  as  this 
pilgrim  in  the  desert.  I  looked  upon  her  with 
more  than  admiration.  And  while  I  gazed  on  her, 
as  in  her  beauty  and  her  might  she  pursued  her 
course,  I  could  not  help  repeating  the  vow  I  had 
made  in  my  youth, — If  I  forget  thee,  O  Jerusa- 
lem, let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning  ! — 
let  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if 
I  prefer  not  Jerusalem  above  my  chief  joy ! 

Inexpressibly  happy,  thought  I,  is  the  Church 
of  God  !  Where  is  there  in  the  world  so  amiable 
and  lovely  a  character — where  a  community  so 
favoured  as  this  !  Many  a  time,  when  she  has 
had  no  resting  place,  and  has  been  hunted  like  a 
partridge  upon  the  mountains,  has  the  Shepherd 
and  Stone  of  Israel  provided  safety  and  repose  for 
her,  and  kept  her  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  Often 
when  she  has  been  driven  from  among  men,  and 
perdition  like  a  flood  has  chased  her,  has  he  him- 
self been  her  dwelling  place,  and  nourished  and 
brought  her  up  as  an  only  child.  Her  ignorance 
he  has  instructed  ;  her  languor  and  depression  he 
has  changed  into  hope  and  rejoicing  ;  her  solitude 
he  has  sweetened  by  his  presence  ;  her  danger  he 
has  driven  far  away.  He  has  been  her  refuge 
and  her  strength.     To  the  multiplied  mischiefs 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  37 

that  have  passed  through  the  earth,  he  has  said, 
Touch  not  mine  anointed  and  do  my  people  no 
harm !  He  has  beautified  and  enlarged  her.  He 
has  caused  her  to  look  forth  like  the  morning. 
He  has  made  her  head  like  Carmel,  and  the  hair 
of  her  head  UkeLeba7ion..  He  has  set  Iter  as  a  seal 
upon  his  heart,  as  a  seal  upon  his  arm.  Nor 
will  his  purposes  of  love  toward  her  be  accom- 
plished, till  he  has  purified  her  from  all  her  imper- 
fection, decked  her  with  majesty  and  excellency, 
and  in  the  day  of  her  celestial  espousals,  presented 
her  to  himself  a  glorious  church,  not  having 
spot,  or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing. 

While  this  train  of  thought  was  passing  through 
my  mind,  I  cast  my  eyes  once  more  towards  the 
wilderness.  No  longer  was  it  a  desert,  but  rather 
an  expanse  of  cultivated  fields,  and  gardens  of 
richest  shrubbery,  every  where  interspersed  with 
beautiful  villages,  towering  palaces,  lofty  turrets, 
and  living  men.  The  corn,  and  the  vine,  the 
olive  and  the  palm  flourished.  Instead  of  the 
thorn,  was  the  fir  tree,  and  instead  of  the  briar; 
the  myrtle  and  the  rose.  Waters  broke  out  in  the 
desert.  The  way  through  this  verdant  territory 
seemed  a  high  way.  No  tedious,  intricate  pil- 
grimage was  it  now.  Enemies  had  disappeared. 
No  lion  was  there,  neither  any  ravenous  beast 


38 


THE    CHURCH 


went  up  thereon,  it  was  not  found  there.  And 
the  pilgrim  had  now  thrown  aside  that  veil  which 
obscured  her,  and  put  on  her  most  splendid  attire. 
A  voice  reached  her  from  the  heavens,  Arise, 
shine,  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  is  risen  upon  thee.  She  looked  forth  now 
as  the  effulgence  of  the  world.  She  seemed  as  it 
were,  clothed  with  the  Sun  ;  the  moon  was  under 
her  feet,  and  upon  her  head  was  a  crown  of 
txoelve  stars.  There  was  a  halo  of  glory  encir- 
cling her,  that  reminded  me  of  the  Shekinah  that 
stood  over  the  ancient  tabernacle.  She  was  near 
to  the  Deity,  encompassed  with  glory,  and  living 
within  the  comprehension  of  his  smile.  Kings 
and  Princes  were  allured  by  her  brightness,  and 
the  wondering  people  came  bending  to  her.  The 
Kings  of  Tarshish  and  the  isles  brought  her 
presents  ;  the  kings  of  Sheba  and  Seba  offered 
her  gifts.  No  longer  did  she  falter  in  her  course, 
or  turn  her  eye  backward.  She  was  clothed  with 
a  divine  panoply,  and  went  forth  more  than  con- 
queror through  him  that  loved  her.  A  banner 
waved  over  her  of  the  purest  gold,  on  one  side  of 
which  was  set  in  rich  enamel,  The  Lord  know- 
eth  them  that  are  his  ;  and  on  the  other, 
Let  every  one  that  nameth  the  name  of 
Christ   depart  from  iniquity.     At  her  ap- 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  39 

proach,  every  false  system  of  religion  was  arrested 
in  its  progress ;  all  mist  and  darkness,  error  and 
delusion,  sin,  shame  and  woe  fled  before  her. 
Streams  of  light  and  salvation  flowed  every  where 
around  her,  and  sent  forth  their  blessings  to  every 
land.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  scroll,  or  parch- 
ment, which  she  unfolded  before  the  nations,  and 
by  which  she  turned  them  from  darkness  unto 
light,  and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God. 
Wonderful  was  the  transformation  that  attended 
and  followed  her  brilliant  career.  Iniquity  fell 
before  her.  Tyranny  and  oppression  and  un- 
righteousness were  blasted  by  her  breath.  Misery 
and  despair  were  together  chased  away  by  the 
light  of  her  countenance.  Every  valley  was  ex- 
alted, and  every  mountain  and  hill  was  made 
low ;  the  crooked  ivas  made  straight,  and  the 
rough  places  plain  ;  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
tvas  revealed,  and  all  flesh  saw  it  together. 

"O  scenes  surpassing  fable  and  yet  true  • 
"  Scenes  of  accomplished  bliss,  which  who  can  see 
"Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
"  His  soul  refresh'd  with  foretastes  of  the  joy !" 

The  mountains  and  the  hills  broke  forth  before 
into  singing,  and  all  the  trees  of  the  field  clapped 
their  hands.     The  Spirit  was  poured  from  on 


49  THE    CHURCH 

high,  and  the  world  appeared  to  be  turning  to  the 
service  and  favour  of  the  true  God.     Every  revo- 
lution of  this  diurnal  sphere  beheld  her  triumphs 
from  the  rising  of  the  Sun  to  his  going  down. 

"  Distant,  barbarous  climes, 
"Rivers  unknown  to  song,  where  first  the  sun 
"  Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 
"  Flames  on  the  Atlantic  isles, 

alternately  became  the  scenes  of  her  perpetuated 
victories.  Distant  continents  and  islands,  wan- 
dering tribes  and  collected  empires,  though  once 
shrouded  in  deepest  gloom,  now  beheld  and  re- 
flected the  brightness  of  her  rising. 

"  One  song  employs  all  nations,  and  all  cry 
"  Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us  ! 
"  The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 
"  Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain  tops 
"From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flving  joy. 
"  Till  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 
"  Earth  rolls  the  rapt'rous  hosannah  round." 

My  reverie  continued,  but  the  gloom  and  de- 
pression which  at  first  pervaded  it  passed  away. 
Instead  of  a  dark  day  in  November,  it  appeared  to 
my  gratified  imagination  like  the  loveliest  in 
May.  Brown  Autumn  had  fled.  Winter  had  been 
chased  away  by  the  softness  and  beauty  of  Spring. 


IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  41 

The  sun  was  just  descending  in  his  gayest 
chariot,  and  throwing  his  light  from  pole  to  pole. 
The  rough  north  wind  had  yielded  to  the  fragrant 
zephyr.  The  rugged  mountain  had  become  like 
the  verdant  lawn.  The  unclouded  sky,  the  balmy 
air,  the  rich  foliage  of  the  forest,  the  fragrant 
flowers  were  but  faintly  emblematical  of  the  un- 
broken serenity  I  felt  within.  The  birds  were 
chanting  their  songs  of  joy,  and  all  nature  was 
vocal  with  praise  and  blossoming  with  hope. 
The  bow  of  promise  threw  its  arch  over  the 
eastern  sky,  and  as  the  sun  went  down,  he  cast 
forth  the  signals  of  a  still  brighter  day. 

New  York,  January,  1838. 


No.  II. 


REFLECTIONS    ON    THE    NEW    YEAR. 

Can  it  be  that  another  year  has  fled  ?  With  all 
its  joys  and  trials,  all  its  sins  and  duties,  all  its  in- 
structions and  privileges, — is  it  fled?  Yes,  it  is 
gone.  It  has  terminated  the  lives  of  millions,  and 
like  an  irresistible  current,  has  borne  them  on  to 
the  grave  and  the  judgment.  It  has  gone.  Like 
a  dream  of  the  night,  it  has  gone  ! 

Amid  the  rapids  of  time,  there  are  few  objects 
a  man  observes  with  less  care  and  distinctness 
than  himself.  To  one  standing  on  the  shore,  the 
current  appears  to  pass  by  with  inconceivable 
swiftness  ;  but  to  one  who  is  himself  gliding  down 
the  stream,  the  face  of  this  vast  extent  of  waters  is 
unruffled,  and  all  around  him  is  a  dead  calm.  It 
is  only  by  looking  toward  the  shore,  by  discerning 
here  and  there  a  distant  landmark,  by  casting  his 
eye  back  upon  the  scenery  that  is  retiring  from  his 
view,  that  he  sees  he  is  going  forward.     And  how 


REFLECTIONS    ON    THE    NEW    YEAR.     43 

fast!     The  tall   pine  that   stands  alone   on  the 

mountain's  brow,  casts  its  shade  far  down  the 

valley ;  while  the   huge  promontory  throws   its 

shadow  almost  immeasurably  on  the  plain  below. 

It  is  but  a  few  years,  and  I  was  greeting  life's 

opening  day.     But  yesterday.  I  thought  myself 

approaching  its  meridian.  To-day  I  look  for  those 

meridian  splendours,  and  they  are  either  wholly 

vanished,  or  just  descending  behind  the  evening 

cloud.     I  cannot  expect  to  weather  out  the  storms 

of  this  tempestuous  clime  much  longer.     A  few 

more  billows  on  these  dangerous  seas,  perhaps  a 

few  days  of  fair  weather  is  the  most  I  can  look 

for,  before  I  am  either  shipwrecked,  or  reach  my 

desired  haven. 

Why  fly  these  years  so  rapidly  ?  It  is  in  anti- 
cipation rather  than  retrospect,  that  men  put  too 
high  an  estimate  upon  earthly  things.  I  have 
been  wandering  to  day  in  the  grave  yard.  I  have 
trodden  softly  on  the  place  of  my  fathers'  sepul- 
chres. I  have  been  playing  with  the  willow  and 
the  cypress  that  weep  over  their  dust.  The  gene- 
rations of  men  dwell  here.  Yes,  here  they  are. 
Those  whom  I  have  loved,  and  still  love,  and 
hope  to  love,  are  here.  The  fashion  of  this 
world  passeth  away.  The  fair  fabric  of  earthly 
good  is  built  upon  the  sand.     It  rocks  and  falls 

5 


44  REFLECTIONS     ON 

under  the  first  stroke  of  the  tempest.  Man,  at  his 
best  estate  is  altogether  vanity.  It  is  well  that  it 
is  so.  Were  it  otherwise,  we  should  put  far  off 
the  evil  day,  and  live  as  if  we  flattered  ourselves 
with  immortality  on  the  earth.  When  the  Duke 
of  Venice  shewed  Charles  the  Fifth  the  treasury 
of  St.  Mark,  and  the  glory  of  his  princely  palace, 
instead  of  admiring  them,  he  remarked,  "  These 
are  the  things  that  make  men  so  loth  to  die." 

On  what  rapid  wings  has  this  last  year  sped  its 
course  ?  How  sure  and  certain  an  approximation 
to  the  close  of  this  earthly  existence  !  Every 
year  adds  to  what  is  past  and  leaves  less  to  come. 
What  is  your  life  ?  It  is  even  as  a  vapour  that 
appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and  then  vanisheth 
away.  What  is  it,  when  compared  with  the 
amount  of  labour  to  be  accomplished,  and  the 
magnitude  of  the  interests  at  stake  ?  What  is  it, 
compared  with  the  facility  with  which  it  may  be 
interrupted,  and  the  ten  thousand  causes  of  decay 
and  dissolution  it  is  destined  to  encounter  7 
What  is  it,  compared  with  the  ever  enduring 
existence  to  which  it  is  an  introduction  ?  How 
fugitive  !  how  frail !  Hardly  has  the  weary  tra- 
veller laid  himself  down  to  rest,  when  he  is  sum- 
moned away  to  pursue  his  journey,  or  called  to 
his  everlasting  home.      We  spend  our  years  as  a 


THE    NEW    YEAR.  45 

tale  that  is  told.  The  flying  cloud,  the  evanes- 
cent vapour,  the  arrow  just  propelled  from  the 
string,  the  withering  grass,  the  flower  whose 
beauty  scarcely  blooms  e'er  it  is  faded,  and  whose 
fragrance  is  scarcely  perceptible  e'er  it  is  gone,  are 
apt  similitudes  of  the  life  of  man. 

I  am  but  a  wanderer,  a  pilgrim,  a  sojourner  on 
the  earth.  Though  every  thing  is  cheerful  about 
me,  I  feel  to  day  exiled  and  alone.  A  thousand 
recollections  crowd  upon  my  mind  to  remind 
me  of  the  past,  to  premonish  me  of  the  future, 
and  to  lead  me  to  some  just  conceptions  of  the 
present.  This  world  is  not  my  home.  I  have 
made  it  my  resting  place  too  long.  I  hear  a  voice 
to-day,  in  accents  sweet  as  angels  use,  whis- 
pering to  my  lonely  heart,  Arise  and  depart  hence^ 
for  this  is  not  your  rest !  I  am  away  from  my 
Father's  house.  I  have  felt  vexations  and  trials. 
I  have  experienced  disappointments  and  losses.  I 
have  known  the  alienation  of  earthly  friends.  I 
am  not  a  stranger  to  dejected  hopes.  I  know 
something  of  conflicts  within.  But  now  and  then 
I  have  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  and  promised  in- 
heritance, which  more  than  compensates  me  for 
all.  It  is  no  grief  of  heart  to  me  that  I  have  no 
enduring  portion  beneath  the  sun.  I  am  but  a 
passing  traveller  here.     T  would  fain  feel  like  one 


46  REFLECTIONS    ON 

who  is  passing  from  place  to  place,  and  going 
from  object  to  object,  with  his  eye  fixed  on  some 
long-wished  for  abode  beyond;  while  every  succes- 
sive scenebrings  me  nearer  to  theendof  my  course, 
and  ail  these  earthly  vicissitudes  endear  to  me  the 
hopes  of  that  final  rest.  To  live  here,  however 
happily,  however  usefully,  however  well,  must 
not  be  my  ultimate  object.  I  was  born  for  eter- 
nity. Nay,  I  am  the  tenant  of  eternity  even  now. 
Time  belongs  to  eternity.  It  is  a  sort  of  isthmus, 
or  rather  a  little  gulph,  with  given  demarcations, 
set  off  and  bounded  by  lines  of  ignorance  ;  but  it 
mingles  with  the  boundless  flood — it  belongs  to 
eternity  still.  A  great  change  indeed  awaits  us. 
We  must  drop  this  tabernacle  and  go  into  a  world 
of  spirits.  But  we  shall  be  in  the  same  duration. 
I  must  live  for  eternity. 

In  entering  on  another  year,  I  know  not  from 
what  unexpected  quarter,  or  at  what  an  unguarded 
hour,  difficulties  and  dangers  may  come.  O  that 
I  could  enjoy  more  of  the  favour  of  God,  more 
of  the  presence  of  the  Saviour,  more  of  the  sealing 
of  the  ever  blessed  Spirit  !  O  for  more  of  a  calm, 
approving  conscience,  and  more  of  the  delightful 
influence  of  the  peace-speaking  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ !  From  some  cause,  or  other,  I  begin  this 
year  with  a  trembling  heart.     I  fear  I  may  loose 


THENEWYEAR.  47 

my  way.  I  am  afraid  lest  I  should  turn  aside 
from  the  straight  path ;  lest  I  may  repose  in  the 
bower  of  indolence  and  ease  ;  lest  I  may  sleep  on 
enchanted  ground ;  lest  I  should  be  ensnared,  if 
not  destroyed  by  an  unhallowed  curiosity  ;  lest  I 
should  be  betrayed  by  my  own  presumption  and 
self-confidence.  I  can  remember  some  who  have 
forsaken  the  way  and  fallen  into  snares  ;  and  the 
sad  memorials  of  their  folly  are  strewed  along  my 
path.  Why  should  I  hope  to  pass  unwatched  or 
unmolested  ?  The  enemy  is  not  asleep.  Many 
a  time  have  I  been  baffled  by  his  artifices.  Rest 
where  I  will,  and  rise  when  I  may,  he  is  always 
at  my  side.  And  shall  I  dream  of  peace  ?  Shall  I 
not  watch  and  pray  ?  Will  not  presumption  and 
sloth  cost  me  dear  ?  Blessed  God  !  hold  thou  me 
up,  and  I  shall  be  safe  !  Pity  thy  erring  crea- 
ture. Forgive  thy  wandering  child.  Keep,  and 
with  the  bounties  of  thy  grace,  bless  thy  poor  sup- 
pliant. Preserve  him  another  year.  Let  him  not 
be  conformed  to  this  world.  Give  him  a  warm 
and  humble  heart.  Let  nothing  interrupt,  or  re- 
tard his  progress  toward  the  Zion  above  ! 

I  would  live  another  year,  if  it  be  my  Heavenly 
Father's  will.  And  yet  I  would  not  live  to  sin, 
and  fall,  and  reproach  my  Saviour  and  his  blessed 
cause.     Better  die  than  live  to  no  good  purpose  ! 


48  REFLECTIONS    ON 

I  would  live  till  my  work  is  done — cheerful  when 
it  is  most  arduous,  and  grateful  for  strength  accord- 
ing to  my  day.  But  I  would  not  be  afraid  to  die. 
Shall  the  child  desire  to  be  away  from  his  Fathers 
house  ?  Shall  the  traveller,  already  weary,  choose 
to  have  his  stay  in  the  wilderness  prolonged? 
It  were  a  sad  sight  to  see  a  Christian  die  with  re- 
gret— to  see  him  go  home,  as  if  he  were  going  to 
a  prison  !  O  let  me  think  much  and  often  of  my 
heavenly  home  ! 

"  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home  ! 

"  Name  ever  dear  to  me  ! 
"  When  shall  my  labours  have  an  end, 

"  In  joy  and  peace  in  thee  ? 

"  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home  ! 

"  My  soul  stills  pants  for  thee  ; 
"  Then  shall  my  labours  have  an  end, 

"  When  I  thy  joys  shall  see." 

Let  me  then  often  climb  the  mount  of  contempla- 
tion, and  prayer,  and  praise,  and  there  try  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  glory  to  be  revealed^  and  get  my 
cold  heart  affected  with  a  view  of  its  yet  distant 
endearments.  Love  to  God — communion  with 
Qod — devotedness  to  God,  these  are  the  foretastes 
of  heaven.  If  through  the  cares  and  duties  of  secu- 
lar life,  I  cannot  preserve  an  invariable  tendency 
of  mind  toward  that  holy  world, — let  it  be  a  more 


THE    NEW    YEAR,  49 

habitual  and  frequent  tendency  !  I  feel  the  sorrows 
of  this  guilty  insensibility,  this  languor  of  spiritual 
affection,  and  long  for  those  hallowed  moments 
when  the  meltings  of  contrition,  the  fervours  of 
desire,  the  vividness  of  faith,  and  the  hope  full  of 
immortality  shall  shed  their  sacred  fragrance  over 
my  spirit,  and  make  me  pant  for  heaven.  Nor 
let  it  be  a  transient  emotion,  kindled  by  some 
momentary  excitement,  or  awakened  by  some 
impulse  of  the  imagination ;  but  marked  by  all 
the  ardour  of  passion  and  all  the  constancy  of 
principle.  Spirit  of  the  Redeemer  !  shed  abroad 
thine  own  love  in  this  poor  heart  of  mine,  and 
thus  seal  it  to  the  day  of  eternal  redemption.  Let 
me  greet  every  truth,  every  providence,  every 
meditation  that  shall  invite  me  to  more  intimate 
intercourse  with  heaven.  Let  me  dwell  upon 
the  communications  sent  down  from  that  blessed 
world  to  cheer  my  fainting  spirit  and  revive  my 
courage  by  the  way.  Let  me  welcome  those  mes- 
sages of  divine  providence  that  are  designed  and 
adapted  to  intercept  my  constant  view  of  earth, 
and  bring  the  realities  of  eternity  near.  Let  me 
grieve  at  nothing  that  makes  me  familiar  with 
heaven.  Let  me  never  mourn  when  some  little 
stream  of  comfort  and  joy  is  dried  up,  and  I  am 
driven  more  directly  to  the  Fountain.     Let  me 


50  REFLECTIONS,     ETC. 

take  a  fresh  departure  for  the  land  of  promise 
from  the  beginning  of  this  New  Year.  I  would 
fain  look  upward  with  a  more  stedfast  eye,  and 
inarch  onward  with  a  firmer  step.  Nor  would  I 
lose  sight  of  the  cloud  by  day,  and  the  pillar  of 
fire  by  night,  but  go  where  it  goes,  and  rest  where 
it  rests. 

And  who, — who  will  remain  behind  ?  Who 
will  be  content  to  have  his  hopes  bounded  by  the 
narrow  scenes  of  earth  ?  Go  up  fellow  traveller 
to  eternity,  go  up  to  some  selected  eminence  of 
thought,  where  the  splendours  of  the  Holy  City 
shall  break  upon  your  view.  This  world  is  not 
your  home  any  more  than  mine.  It  cannot  com- 
fort you,  more  than  it  has  comforted  me.  You 
may  be  called  away  from  all  its  scenes  as  soon 
as  I.  Your  journey  to  the  grave  may  be  shorter 
even  than  mine.  Nay,  this  year,  thou  mayest 
die. 


, 


No.  III. 


THE    INQUIRING    MEETING. 

"  Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
"  Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing." 

During  one  of  those  seasons  of  religious  attention 
with  which  the  churches  in  New  England  have 
been  visited  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  I  employed  a  few 
weeks  in  the  interior  of  the  country.  It  was  the 
month  of  August.  The  early  harvest  still  waved 
in  rich  and  brown  luxuriance  over  hill  and  vale, 
and  formed  a  delightful  and  welcome  contrast  to 
the  heated  walls,  burning  pavement,  and  arid  atmos- 
phere of  a  crowded  city.  Mountain  and  river,  the 
vivid  verdure  and  refreshing  breezes  of  a  rural  sky, 
the  dense,  dark  forest,  with  emphasis  and  sweetest 
harmony  seemed  to  say,  Marvellous  are  thy  works, 
Lord,  God,  Almighty,  in  wisdom  hast  thou  made 
them  all ! 

There  was  every  thing  in  the  scenery  that  invi- 
ted to  heavenly  contemplation.  Why,  thought  I, 
are  not  the  dwellers  in  these  tranquil  and  inviting 
regions  all  the  devoted  children  of  God  ?  What  is 
there  here  to  allure  the  soul  to  fellowship  with 


52  THE    INQUIRING 

earth  ?  I  knew  indeed  that  human  nature  is  the 
same  every  where,  and  that  the  same  general  vir- 
tues and  vices  are  to  be  found  in  both  city  and 
Gountry.  But  the  febrile  excitement,  the  stimula- 
ted intercourse,  the  wealth,  luxury  and  dissipation, 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world,  the  refine- 
ments of  philosophy,  and  the  gross  vices  which 
exert  so  powerful  and  melancholy  an  influence  in 
populous  cities,  seemed  here  to  have  no  power. 
The  rural  christian  is  placed  in  circumstances 
most  favourable  to  his  best  moral  habits  and  feel- 
ings. His  trains  and  associations  of  devoted 
thought  seem  to  spring  up  and  flow  spontaneously, 
like  the  stream  that  flows  from  a  fountain  of  living 
water.  Love  to  God — communion  with  God — 
devotedness  to  God  seem  almost  natural  to  such 
exemption  from  care,  to  the  solitude  of  such  re- 
tirement, to  such  persuasives  to  hallowed  medita- 
tion. I  was  irresistibly  reminded  of  those  beauti- 
ful lines  of  Cowper, — 

"  Far  from  the  world,  O  God,  I  flee, 

11  From  strife  and  tumult  far  ; 
"  From  scenes  where  Satan  wages  still 

"  His  most  successful  war. 

"  The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade, 

"With  prayer  and  praise  agree  ; 
"  And  seem  by  thy  sweet  bounty  made, 

"  For  those  that  follow  thee." 


MEETING.  53 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  the  week,  and  just 
as  the  lengthened  shadows  reminded  us  that  the 
sun  was  going  down,  that  we  drew  near  a  quiet 
and  lovely  village  in  the  county  of  Berkshire,  not 
far  from  the  luxuriant  meadows  beautified  by  the 
Housatonic  river.  Every  thing  was  still,  except 
here  and  there  a  hurried  effort  in  the  field  to  pre- 
pare for  the  approaching  Lord's  day.  We  alighted 
at  the  village  Hotel  just  as  the  Sun  went  down. 
There  was  a  tranquillity — an  air  of  seriousness 
about  the  place  to  which  we  had  not  been  accus- 
tomed even  in  the  best  conducted  Inns  of  New 
England,  which  led  us  to  congratulate  one  another 
in  the  anticipation  of  a  pleasant  Sabbath.  And 
what  added  not  a  little  to  our  anticipations,  we 
learned  in  the  course  of  the  evening  that  our  Host 
was  a  pious  man,  and  that  there  was  a  Revival  of 
Religion  in  the  village  of  several  months  standing. 

Our  expectations  in  relation  to  the  approaching 
day  were  not  disappointed.  It  was  the  week  of 
the  most  powerful  influence  of  the  Divine  Spirit 
upon  the  people,  and  of  this  week  the  Sabbath 
was  the  crown.  I  shall  never  forget  the  tender- 
ness and  solemnity  of  this  day.  The  unbroken 
silence  of  the  morning — the  quietness  and  decency 
of  the  Inn— the  respectful  deportment  of  the  ser- 
vants— the  delightful  season  of  family  worship, 


54  THE    INQUIRING 

interrupted  by  no  blowing  of  horns,  or  arrival  and 
departure   of   stages — the    tears   which   trickled 
down  the  withered  cheeks  of  an  elderly  lady,  more 
venerable  for  her  piety  even  than  for  her  years,  as 
we  sung,  Welcome  sweet  day  of  rest — all  led  us 
to  respond  to  the  sentiments  we  had  just  been 
reading,  Surely  the  Lord  is  in  this  place,  and  I 
knew  it  not !    As  the  first  bell  was  ringing  for 
church,  I   saw  the  villagers  crossing  the   plain 
from  every  direction,  and  going  into  the  school 
house.     It  was  a  meeting  for  prayer.     It  had 
caught  the  eye  of  Mrs.  S.  before  it  had  caught  my 
own,  and  she  was  just  descending  from  her  cham- 
ber with  her  bonnet  on  her  arm,  to  say,  Let  us  not 
??iiss  the  prayer  meeting.     We  hastened  across 
the  green  and  took  our  seats  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  building.     It  was  truly  the  hour  of  prayer. 
Confession,  thanksgiving,   entreaty — so   humble, 
and  yet  so  confiding — so  confiding,  and  yet  so 
unpresumptuous — so  importunate  and  yet  so  sub- 
missive, distinguished  their  addresses  to  the  throne, 
that  we  could  not  but  feel  that  it  was  given  them 
to  have  power  with  God.     At  ten  o'clock,  the 
meeting  quietly  dispersed,  and  we  repaired  to  the 
church.      We  were   strangers,  and   yet   no   eye 
seemed  to  wander  but  our  own.     And  ours  not 
long.     The  prayers,  the  praises,  the  appearance  of 


MEETING.  55 

assembly,  the  awful  stillness,  the  deep  thoughts 
and  suppressed  emotion  of  the  worshippers,  told  us 
that  it  was  none  other  than  the  house  of  God  and 
the  gate  of  heaven.  I  was  acquainted  with  the 
Pastor,  and  assisted  him  in  the  services  of  a  part 
of  the  day.  He  was  one  of  the  staid  sons  of  the 
Pilgrims — with  more  sense  than  sound — and  yet 
knew  well  how  to  employ  the 

"  Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn." 

His  theme  was,  how  can  we  escape,  if  we  neglect 
so  great  salvation  ?  He  spake  not  in  the  enticing 
words  of  man's  wisdom,  but  in  demonstration  of 
the  Spirit  and  with  power.  He  rose  with  the  sa- 
credness  and  grandeur  of  his  subject,  till  it  seemed 
as  though  he  was  handling  the  consciences  of 
his  auditory  with  his  fingers.  I  had  always  res- 
pected and  loved  him,  but  never  so  much  as  now- 
It  was  not  the  declamation  of  enthusiasm,  but  the 
power  of  truth.  It  was  logical  and  yet  mingled 
with  ardent  and  impassioned  emotion.  When 
he  came  to  speak  of  the  sinner's  perdition,  he  wept. 
And  who  did  not  weep  ?  How  worthless  and  in- 
significant, thought  I,  are  all  other  interests  and 
claims,  when  compared  with  the  interests  of  im- 
mortal truth,  and  the  claims  of  eternity  !  Such 
was  my  old  friend  the  village  Pastor.     His  faithful 

6 


56  THE    INQUIRING 

reproof — his  affectionate  spirit — his  meekness  of 
wisdom — his  gentleness  and  simplicity — his  holy 
zeal  and  unostentatious  love — his  devotedness  to 
the  cause  of  truth  and  the  honour  of  God — these, 
thought  I,  are  characteristics  in  the  ambassador  of 
Christ  which 

"Allure  to  brighter  worlds,  and  lead  the  way." 

The  subject  of  the  afternoon  discourse  was,  And 
when  he  beheld  the  city,  he  wept  over  it.  Nor 
could  I  refrain  from  saying,  with  the  disciples  on 
the  mount,  Lord,  it  is  good  to  be  here. 

At  the  close  both  of  the  morning  and  afternoon 
service,  notice  was  given  of  a  meeting  for  Prayer 
in  the  School  House,  and  a  meeting  for  Religious 
Inquiry  in  the  Academy,  both  to  be  attended  in 
the  evening.  After  church,  we  accompanied  the 
Pastor  and  took  tea  with  his  family.  No  sooner 
were  we  seated  in  the  parlour,  than  it  was  obvious 
that  deep  solicitude  was  felt  for  the  results  of  this 
Sabbath,  and  strong  confidence  expressed  that  the 
gracious  Lord  had  appeared  in  his  glory.  Two 
of  the  dear  children  of  the  family  and  a  female 
servant  had  returned  from  the  Sanctuary  in  deep 
distress,  and  with  their  heads  bowed  down  like  a 
bulrush.  The  daughter  could  not  suppress  her 
emotions,  and  exclaimed,  O father!   how  shall  I 


MEETING.  57 

escape  ?  We  were  all  affected,  and  for  several 
moments,  none  of  us  could  speak.  The  mother 
looked  towards  me,  and  I  took  my  seat  by  the 
side  of  her  weeping  child.  After  some  conversa- 
tion, the  father  proposed  a  little  family  prayer- 
meeting,  during  which,  after  singing  the  fifty  first 
Psalm,  two  prayers  were  offered  with  a  special 
view  of  supplicating  the  divine  presence  with  the 
exercises  of  the  approaching  evening.  While 
seated  at  the  tea  table,  I  inquired  of  my  friend, 
"  Whether  there  was  anything  peculiar  in  the  In- 
"  quiring  Meeting,  or  any  peculiarity  in  his  manner 
"of  conducting  it? — "No,"  said  he,  "none  at  all. 
"The  object  of  the  meeting  is  to  give  those  persons 
"  in  the  congregation,  who  feel  an  interest  in  the 
"  subject  of  religion,  and  who  desire  it,  the  oppor- 
"  tunity  of  conversing  with  their  pastor.  But" 
added  he,  "  you  will  attend  and  assist  me  in  the 
"  exercises." 

While  Mrs.  H.  and  Mrs.  S.  went  to  the  prayer- 
meeting  in  the  School  House,  Mr.  H.  and  myself 
and  the  children  went  to  the  Inquiring  meeting 
in  the  academy.  It  was  a  large  hall,  and  was 
nearly  filled.  I  should  judge  there  were  from 
one  hundred  and  thirty  to  one  hundred  and  fifty 
persons  present, — chiefly  of  those  who  were  from 
sixteen  to  thirty  years  of  age,  together  with  a 


58  THE    INQUIRING 

few  in  more   advanced   years,  and   a  few  who 
were  children.     All  were  seated — some  with  their 
heads  leaning  upon  the  railing  of  the  seats — some 
in  a  fixedness  of  look  that  seemed  to  say,  God  and 
eternity  are  near — some  with  a  settled  gloom  and 
depression  of  countenance — some  few  with  marks 
of  indescribable  anguish — and  some  with  a  seren- 
ity and  smile,  placid  and  beautiful  as  the  loveliest 
sky  after  a  storm.     I  know  not  what  brought  the 
thought  to  my  mind,  but  I  was  instinctively  led 
to  dwell  a  moment,  in  my  reflections,  upon  that 
beautiful  representation  in   the  Apocalypse,  And 
there  was  a  rain  bow  round  about  the  throne.     I 
felt  that  God  was  holy.     I  could  not  look  upon 
the  splendour  of  his  unveiled  glory.     But  its  blaz- 
ing splendors  were  all  subdued  and  softened  here, 
like  the  blended  colouring  of  the  rain  bow.     It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  was  within  the  most  Holy 
Place  ;   where  I  had  new  views  of  the  God  that 
is  invisible,  and  where,  amid  all  that  was  solemn 
and  fearful,  this  well  known  emblem  of  his  cove- 
nant of  peace  reflected  a  beauty  and  splendor  so 
soft  and  gentle,  that  even  the  most  guilty  and  vile 
might  look  upon  him  and  live.     This,  thought  I, 
is  that  rain  of  heaven,  and  these  those  dews  which 
descend  so  plentifully  upon  the  mountains  of  Zion, 
that  the  bow  of  promise  completely  encircles  the 


MEETING.  59 

throne.     The  meeting  was  opened  by  singing  the 
following  hymn : 

"  Come  sacred  Spirit  from  above, 

"And  fill  the  coldest  heart  with  love  ; 
"  Soften  to  flesh  the  flinty  stone, 

"And  let  thy  god-like  power  be  known, 

"Speak,  Thou,  and  from  the  haughtiest  eyes, 

"Shall  floods  of  pious  sorrow  rise  ; 
"While  all  their  glowing  souls  are  born, 

"  To  seek  that  grace  which  they  now  scorn. 

"  O  let  a  holy  flock  await, 

"  Num'rous  around  thy  temple  gate, 
"  Each  pressing  on  with  zeal  to  be 

"  A  living  sacrifice  to  thee  !" 

While  this  hymn  was  singing,  I  observed  seve- 
ral persons  drop  their  heads,  and  during  the  short 
interval  of  rest  between  the  stanzas,  heard  now 
and  then  a  deep  sigh,  and  beheld  some  in  tears. 
When  the  hymn  was  closed,  the  object  of  the  meet- 
ing was  briefly  stated,  and  all  were  requested  to 
kneel  and  unite  in  a  few  words  of  prayer.  After 
prayer,  the  Pastor  himself  together  with  three 
other  gentlemen  who  as  I  supposed  were  offi- 
cers of  the  church,  dispersed  themselves  through- 
out different  parts  of  the  room,  and  entered  into 
conversation  with  the  individuals  who  were  pre- 

6* 


60 


THE    INQUIRING 


sent.  Here  and  there  were  clusters  of  persons  with 
whom  they  conversed  collectively.  The  conver- 
sation with  individuals  was  sometimes  continued 
two  or  three  minutes,  and  sometimes  elicited  no 
answer.  Sometimes  it  consisted  of  a  single  inquiry 
and  an  appended  observation  or  two.  And  some- 
times, it  continued  for  eight  or  ten  minutes.  So 
that  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  there  were  none 
who  had  not  the  opportunity  of  a  personal  inter- 
view with  their  Pastor,  or  some  one  of  us  who 
assisted  him.  The  conversation  was  conducted 
rather  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  and  much  as  it 
would  have  been  had  the  parties  been  alone  in  a 
private  parlour.  Very  much  of  it  I  heard,  and 
will  now  narrate  with  as  much  accuracy  as  I  can. 

Addressing  himself  to  a  middle  aged  man  who 
sat  near  us,  «  Do  you  feel  Sir,"  inquired  the  Pas- 
tor, "any  special  interest  in  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion ?" 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say,"  was  the  reply.  «  I  do 
"  not  feel  as  I  did  a  few  weeks  since.  I  see  that 
"  religion  is  important,  and  I  know  that  I  cannot 
"  be  happy  without  it.  The  world  looks  dark  to 
"  me.  But  I  am  for  the  most  part  very  uncon- 
"  cerned.  I  am  ignorant,  and  wish  you  to  instruct 
"  me,  and  to  deal  with  me  plainly  and  faithfully." 


MEETING,  61 

"Have  you  ever  been  sensible/7  continued  the 
Pastor,  «  That  you  are  the  enemy  of  God  ?  Do 
"  you  see  for  yourself  that  notwithstanding  all  his 
"  kindness  and  love,  you  are  still  unwilling  to  for- 
"  sake  your  sins,  and  fall  in  with  the  method  of 
"  mercy  by  Jesus  Christ." 

"I  fear,  Sir,"  said  he,  "I  do  not  feel  this,  though 
il  I  know  it  is  true.  I  have  no  proper  conviction 
"  of  my  sins.  My  conscience  is  right,  but  my 
"  heart  is  wrong.  My  conscience  tells  me  that 
"  God  would  do  me  no  injustice  if  I  should  be  left 
"  to  perish.  And  yet  my  heart  rises  in  dreadful 
"  opposition  to  his  justice  and  sovereignty.  I  feel 
"  as  though  I  could  not  submit  to  such  a  God." 

"  Do  you  think  such  feelings  are  right  ?"  said 
his  Pastor.  «  Would  it  be  right  for  angels  to  feel 
"  thus  toward  the  Everblessed  God  ?  Would  it 
"  be  right  for  saints  ?     Is  it  right  in  you  ?" 

"I  know  it  is  not  right." 

"And  will  you  persist  in  what  you  yourself  ac- 
"  knowledge  to  be  wrong  ?" 

"  I  know  I  am  wrong  ;  but  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"O  what  ivould  you  do,  but  be  reconciled  to 
"  God  ?  The  blessed  Saviour,  who  shed  his  blood 
"  for  you  ;  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  is  now  striving 
"  with  you  ;  your  own  conscience,  which  now  re- 
"  proaches  you ;  all   require  you   to  cease  from 


62  THE    INQUIRING 

"contending with  your  Maker.  These  rebellious 
"  feelings  show  you  what  is  in  your  heart.  They 
"  show  you  how  unfit  you  are,  with  such  a  spirit, 
"to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  You  must 
"give  them  up.  Pray,  pray  for  grace  to  give 
"  them  up.  They  make  you  miserable  here,  and 
"  if  persevered  in,  must  make  you  miserable  for 
"  ever." 

To  a  young  man  who  had  overheard  the  pre- 
vious conversation,  the  Pastor  said,  "  Can  you 
give  me  some  account  of  the  exercises  of  your 
mind,  my  young  friend  ?" 

The  youth  was  for  a  moment  too  much  affected 
to  speak  ;  when  his  Pastor,  with  a  tenderness  that 
seemed  to  forbid  reserve,  inquired,  "  When  was 
"  your  attention  first  called  up  to  the  state  of  your 
"  own  soul  ?" 

"  The  first  thing,"  replied  the  young  man,  "that 
"  I  saw,  was  at  the  lecture,  the  week  before  last. 
"  I  saw  that  I  was  a  sinner,  and  in  danger  of  end- 
"  less  punishment.  When  I  went  home,  I  deter- 
"  mined  to  seek  religion.  I  made  a  solemn  promise. 
"  I  read  the  Bible,  and  prayed  several  times  a  day." 

"  And  have  you  found  the  Saviour  ?" 

"  No,  I  cannot  find  him." 

"  And   yet  he  says,  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find. 


MEETING.  63 

"  Him  that  cometh  to  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast 
"  out.  Does  it  seem  to  you  that  Christ  is  either 
"  unable,  or  unwilling  to  save  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  young  man,  "just 
"  how  I  have  felt.  The  last  Sabbath  morning, 
"  you  preached  from  these  words,  The  heart  is 
"full  of  evil.  I  thought  you  were  personal  in 
"  your  remarks.  You  showed  me  what  a  wicked 
"heart  I  had,  and  how  full  of  evil  it  was.  I 
"  thought  that  all  the  people  were  looking  at  me, 
n  and  that  you  where  showing  them  my  wicked 
"heart.  And  I  was  displeased  and  angry.  But 
"  when  I  went  home,  I  was  very  much  distressed. 
"  My  mother  said  nothing  to  me,  and  this  distress- 
"  ed  me  more.  I  overheard  her  praying  for  me 
"  in  her  chamber,"and  this  distressed  me  still  more. 
"  I  went  and  tried  to  pray  for  myself,  and  I  could 
"  not  pray,  and  this  distressed  me  more  still.  I 
"  felt  that  I  was  lost.  I  thought  I  should  never 
"  find  an  interest  in  Christ.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
"I  was  so  wicked,  I  must  perish." 

"  And  how  has  it  been  with  you,  through  the 
"week  ?" 

"  Just  the  same,  Sir.  When  I  read  the  Bible 
"  and  try  to  pray,  I  feel  that  God  is  all  the  while 
"angry  with  me." 

"  He  is  a  Holy  God,  and  cannot  look  on  sin." 


64 


THK    INQUIRING 


"OSir,"  replied  the  young  man,  "I  know  I 
"  must  perish,  unless  God  take  away  my  obstinate 
"heart,  and  give  me  a  heart  of  flesh." 

"  It  is  indeed  so,"  replied  his  Pastor.  "  Except 
"  a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom 
"  of  GodP 

"  I  know  it  sir,  I  know  it.  Never  can  I  enter 
"  into  that  kingdom,  with  such  a  heart." 

"  No  never  /"  was  the  reply ;  and  it  was  uttered 
with  a  tenderness  and  solemnity  with  which  a 
father  would  address  a  dying  child.  "  And 
"never,  unless  God  give  you  up  to  awful  blind- 
"  ness  can  you  be  happy  any  more  on  earth,  with 
"  such  a  heart." 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  young  man,  "the  thought 
"  crosses  my  mind,  that  I  had  rather  go  back  to 
"  my  former  stupidity,  than  remain  as  I  am." 

"  O  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  his  Pastor, 
'•  strive  and  pray  against  such  thoughts  as  these. 
"  The  adversary  would  tempt  you  to  such  thoughts, 
"  and  triumph  over  his  poor,  deluded  victim,  if 
"  he  could  thus  stifle  these  convictions.  He 
"  knows  you  would  gain  nothing  by  going  back, 
"  but  become  ten-fold  more  the  child  of  Hell  than 
"  before.  You  may  get  rid  of  this  distress,  and 
"lose  these  convictions  ;  but  believe  me,  it  will 
"  be  only  for  a  little  while.     They  will  all  return. 


MEETING.  65 

"  either  in  this  world,  or  another,  and  in  ten-fold 
"  power.  And  there  will  be  nothing  to  relieve 
"them  then : — no  inviting  Saviour — no  mercy  seat 
" — no  hope  of  pardon — no  mighty  healer — no 
"  peace-speaking  blood  of  the  cross  : — no,  nothing 
"  but  an  angry  God,  a  lost  soul,  and  the  most  dis- 
"  tressing  convictions  forever." 

Here,  the  poor  young  man  looked  us  both  full 
in  the  face  without  uttering  a  word.  The  deep 
lines  of  sullen  dejection  were  imprinted  on  his 
countenance,  and  he  could  neither  weep  nor  speak. 
"  O  Eternity  !"  said  the  Pastor,  while  a  deep  sigh 
involuntarily  escaped  his  bosom.  "  O  Eternity  ! 
Eternity !"  responded  the  youth  in  a  whisper, 
"  there  will  be  no  end  to  eternity  !"  For  a  moment 
we  were  all  silent.  I  could  not  help  taking  his 
hand,  and  saying  with  tears,  Is  there  no  balm  hi 
Gilead 7 — He  wept.  "  Balm?  said  he,  "balm  for 
my  wounded,  guilty  soul  !" — Here,  I  observed  his 
Pastor  weep,  while  he  distinctly  uttered  the  ejacu- 
lation, "  Lord  give  us  help  from  trouble  /" 

"  O  Sir,"  replied  the  agitated  youth,  what  shall 
"  I  do  ?  I  have  felt  all  this  week  as  though  I  hated 
"  God,  and  would  fain  flee  out  of  his  hands.  I 
"  have  been  so  long  in  this  wretched  state  of  mind, 
"while  so  many  others  have  been  brought  in 
"  rejoicing,  that  it  seems  to  me  as  though  God 


66  THE    INQUIRING 

"  meant  to  give  me  up.  It  does  no  good  for 
"  me  to  read,  or  pray,  so  long  as  God  is  against 
'•me." 

"  So  long  as  you  are  against  God,"  replied 
his  minister,  almost  with  an  air  of  severity. 
u  God  will  do  you  no  wrong.  He  sees  you. 
"He  hears  you. — And  yet  he  bears  with  you." 
"  And  then  with  subdued  and  tender  accents, 
proceeded,  "  His  love  is  infinite.  Nothing  but 
"  his  patience  and  long  suffering  have  kept  you 
"  out  of  hell  so  long.  Nor  would  he  have  showed 
"  you  thus  your  guilt  and  danger,  if  he  were 
'•not  willing  you  should  come  to  repentance. 
•  He  wounds  that  he  may  heal.  He  waits 
"  that  he  may  be  gracious.  There  is  bread 
"  enough  in  your  Father's  house,  and  to  spare. 
'•  O  against  what  love  are  you  uttering  these  un- 
" grateful  complaints!  If  you  ever  become  his 
"  child,  you  will  Avonder  that  you  stood  out  so 
"  long  against  his  love  and  mercy." 

There  was  a  young  lady  just  behind  us,  whose 
countenance  wore  a  very  different  appearance  from 
that  of  this  unhappy  youth.  She  was  peaceful, 
and  yet  solemn  ;  joyful,  and  yet  serious.  It  seem- 
ed as  though  the  fountains  of  consolation  were 
springing  up  in  her  mind,  and  her  very  visage 


MEETING.  67 

shone,  I  had  almost  said,  like  the  face  of  Moses, 
when  he  came  down  from  the  mount. 

"I  perceive,"  Mary,  "said  her  Pastor,"  that 
''your  mind  is  more  tranquil,  than  when  I  last 
"  saw  you." 

She  looked  up,  and  smiled.     "  I  have  peace," 

said  she,  "sweet  peace— yet  I  know  not  what  to 

"think.    I  fear  I  am  growing  stupid.     And  yet  I 

"  am  happy.     I  am  afraid  it  is  wrong  for  such 

'"  a  sinner  as  I  am  to  feel  so  happy." 

"  What  makes  you  happy  ?"  said  her  Pastor. 
"I  do  not   know,  said  she,"  my  heart-risings 
"  against  God  are  gone ;  and  yet  I  have  none  of 
"  the  love  I  have  heard  others  speak  of." 

"  Does  it  appear  to  you  that  you  are  entitled  to 
the  promises  of  the  gospel  ?" 

<•  Not  that  I  know  of,"  she  replied.    « I  have 

"  never  asked  myself  that  question.   My  anxiety  is 

"  gone  ;  my  fear  is  that  I  have  lost  my  convictions." 

"  How,"  said  her  Pastor,  "  does  God  appear  to 

you." 

"  How  ?— God  is  love.  God  is  in  Christ  recon- 
"  ciling  sinners  unto  himself.  He  is  glorious  in 
"  holiness,  fearful  in  praises,  doing  wonders." 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?" 

With  great  simplicity  she  replied,"  I  think  I  do 
"  not  hate  him  now.     I  have  been  thinking  of  his 

7 


68  THE    INQUIRING 

"  character  and  government,  and  love  to  think  or 
"  them.  They  do  not  distress  me,  as  they  did 
"  once.  You  know  Sir,  they  used  to  distress 
"  me.  But  I  can  think  of  him  now  as  a  sin-hating 
"  God,  without  desiring  that  he  should  be  less  holy. 

"  Mary,"  said  her  Pastor,  distinctly,  "  does  God 
'<  appear  glorious  in  your  eyes  for  being  a  sin- 
"  hating,  sin-avenging  God?" 

"  He  does,"  said  she,  u  appear  glorious." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  yourself  as  a  sinner, 
Mary  ?"  inquired  her  Pastor. 

"I  have  seen  my  own  extreme  vileness,  Sir, 
"  and  see  it  more  and  more  ;  and  yet  I  no  longer 
wish  to  run  away  from  God." 

"  And  what,"  said  her  Pastor,  "  do  you  think  of 
Christ  r 

She  simply  answered,  "His  blood  cleanseth 
"  from  all  sin." 

"And  can  you  not  believe  in  him  and  receive  him 
"  as  your  own  Saviour,  and  say  with  Thomas,  my 
Lord  and  my  God  !" 

"I  know  if  I  do  not  believe  in  him  I  must 
perish." 

"  You  know  too,  that  God  can  be  just,  and 
"justify  every  one  that  believeth.  This  is  the 
"  record,  that  God  hath  given  us  eternal  life,  and 
"  this  life  is  in  his  Son.     And  will  you  not  put 


MEETING.  69 

"  honour  upon  God,  by  believing  in  him  whom 
"he  hath  sent?'' 

"  Indeed,  Sir,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  I  do  not 
"  think  I  am  a  christian.  I  do  not  disbelieve,  nor 
"  distrust  God.  Nor  am  I  afraid  to  commit  myself 
"  to  the  hands  of  the  mighty  Saviour.  But  I  do 
"  not  know  that  I  am  accepted  of  him.  And  if 
"  not,  I  cannot  complain.  I  thought  this  afternoon 
"  of  the  Saviour's  love  for  sinners,  and  felt  that  I 
could  say  with  Job,  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will 
I  trust  in  him."  And  there  was  so  much  meek- 
ness and  humility  when  she  uttered  this  sentence, 
that  I  could  not  doubt  it  bespoke  her  heart. 

It  was  the  sister  of  Mary,  who,  as  I  was  after- 
ward informed,  sat  next  her.  These  sisters  were 
two  of  five  children  who,  within  a  few  weeks  had 
been  brought  out  of  darkness  into  God's  marvellous 
light.  Elisabeth,  of  whom  I  am  now  speaking, 
was  the  «lder. 

"  You  expressed  some  relief  from  your  anxiety," 
said  her  Pastor,  "  when  you  were  at  the  meeting 
last  week,  Elisabeth." 

"  Yes  Sir,  I  had  some  hope  of  having  made  my 
"  peace  with  God  ;  and  I  think  it  is  stronger  since 
"  I  saw  you." 

Well,  Elisabeth,  I  will  leave  my  friend  to  con- 


70  THE    INQUIRING 

"  verse  with  you,  while  I  go  to  another  part  of  the 
"room.  State  your  views  and  feelings  to  him,  with  the 
"  same  frankness  with  which  you  would  do  to  me." 

•;  What  induces  you  to  believe,"  I  enquired, 
••  that  you  have  experienced  a  change  of  heart  ?" 

"  My  views  and  desires,  Sir.  are  very  different 
from  what  they  once  were." 

"  Pardon  me  for  inquiring,  in  what  particulars 
they  are  different." 

"  In  many  particulars,  Sir,  but  especially  toward 
•:God.  I  usedto  care  nothing  about  God.  I  scarcely 
••ever  thought  of  him,  and  felt  and  acted  much 
"  as  I  would  have  done  were  there  no  God.  But 
••  now  I  think  of  none  so  much  as  him.  It  seems 
"  to  me,  I  see  him  every  where,  and  every  where 
"  enjoy  him. 

"  Are  you  sure,"  said  I,  "  that  there  is  nothing 
•you  prefer  above  God." 

•l  I  will  not  say  I  am  sure,  because  it  is  a  very 
"  easy  thing  for  me  to  be  deceived.  But  if  my 
••  heart  is  set  on  any  thing  more  than  God,  I  do 
'-'•  not  know  what  it  is.  I  am  sure  it  is  not  wealth  ; 
"  it  is  not  fashion  and  pleasure  ;  it  is  not  gay  so- 
•  ciety  ;  it  is  not  fame,  nor  any  earthly  good.  God 
•;  is  more  to  me  than  all." 

"  But  why  do  you  delight  so  much  in  God." 

I  was  struck  with  her  reply,  and  wished  that 


MEETING.  71 

all  the  world  could  have  heard  it — "  Why  should 

I  not  delight  in  him  ?" — 

"  And  is  there  nothing  in  God,"  said  I,  "  that 
•'displeases  you? — no  part  of  his  character  that  you 
"dislike?" 

"  No,  nothing.  There  is  nothing  that  is  wrong. 
"  There  is  no  blemish.  God  is  infinitely  lovely, 
"  and  he  does  what  is  right.     There  is  no  reason 

II  why  I,  or  any  body  else,  should  be  displeased 
"  with  God."  And  she  said  this  with  so  much 
decision  and  meekness,  that  I  observed  it  made  a 
deep  impression  on  several  persons  who  sat  near  us. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  did  you  never,  my  young  friend, 
u  look  upon  God  as  a  hard  master,  and  upon  his 
"Jaw  as  a  hard  and  severe  law  ?" 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  she  replied,  when  I  thought 
"  at  all.  I  used  often  to  try  to  banish  God  from 
"  my  thoughts.  I  used  to  endeavour  to  reason 
"  away  my  obligations  to  him.  I  used  to  think 
"  that  as  I  could  not  make  me  a  new  heart,  so 
"until  God  performed  this  work  for  me,  I  could 
"  not  be  bound  to  love  him,  nor  blamed  for  not 
"  loving  him.  In  this  way  I  used  to  contend  with 
"  God,  though  I  was  not  sensible  of  it  at  the  time. 
"  But  I  have  none  of  these  feelings  now." 

"  You  have  been  a  great  sinner  then,  thus  to 
"  contend  with  God." 


7'4  THE    INQUIRING 

"01  have  been  a  great  sinner.  I  am  a  great 
sinner  still.  I  know  if  God  should  punish  me 
according  to  my  ill-desert,  I  must  perish.  And 
if  I  should  perish,  I  know  it  would  be  just.  It 
would  be  right— exactly  right"  Here  she  wept, 
and  said,  "  O  how  wonderful  is  it,  that  he  should 
"  forgive  such  a  sinner  !" 

"  But  how  can  God  forgive?  what  becomes  of 
his  justice  ? 

"  Sir,  you  have  told  us  to  day.  He  so  loved  the 
"world  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that 
"  whosoever  believeth  in  him  might  not  perish,  but 
"  have  everlasting  life.  The  Lord  hath  laid  on 
"  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all.  He  who  knew  no  sin 
"  was  made  sin  for  us  that  we  might  be  made  the 
"righteousness  of  God  in  him.  I  have  no  hopes 
"  but  here. 

"  But  how  is  this,"  said  I,  "  and  what  do  you 
"  understand  by  it  ? 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  tell  you,  Sir.  I 
"  am  but  a  child  in  knowledge  and  grace.  It  is  a 
"  very  precious  truth  to  me,  that  Jesus  died  ;  that 
"  he  bore  my  sins,  and  that  his  righteousness  in 
"  the  judgment  of  God,  is  counted  as  mine." 

"  But  do  you  suppose  that  Christ  was  a  sinner  !" 

"  No  ;  but  he  bore  my  sins." 

A  And  because  his  righteousness  is  imputed  to 


MEETING,  73 

"  you,  do  you  consider  yourself  less  guilty  and 
"  ill-deserving  ?" 

•'•'  In  my  self ,  Sir,  I  am  guilty  and  deserve  to 
"  suffer  ;  but  in  him  I  hope  to  be  acquitted  from 
;'  the  punishment  I  deserve,  because  he  endured 
"  it  for  me. 

"  And  how  does  this  method  of  salvation  appear 
« to  you  ?" 

u  It  is  just  what  I  need — Christ  is  my  only  Sa- 
"  viour.  He  is  a  full  and  complete  Saviour.  His 
"  cross  is  my  only  refuge.  O,  Sir,  I  have  felt  the 
"  worth  and  tasted  the  sweetness  of  the  Saviour's 
u  dying  love,  and  long  to  tell  it  to  the  world." 

"  Do  you  recollect  that  you  were  ever  displeased 
"  with  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible,  and  felt  offended 
"when  you  heard  ministers  preach  on  the  subject 
"  of  depravity 3  decrees,  and  election  ? 

"  Often,  very  often.  These  doctrines  were  dis- 
"  pleasing  to  me.  They  disturbed  me.  But  I  do 
"  not  complain  of  them  now," 

"Why?" 

"  I  do  not  know  Sir.  I  cannot  say  that  I  under- 
stand them.  But  it  appears  to  me  that  God  has 
"  a  right  to  do  what  he  will  with  his  own.  We 
«  all  deserve  to  die.  He  hath  mercy  on  whom  he 
"  will  have  mercy.     I  know  he  will  do  right. 

"  There  is  not  a  sparrow,  or  a  worm, 
"  But  is  found  in  his  decrees." 


74  THE    INQUIRING 

"  I  leave  all  this  with  God.  He  is  of  one  mind 
"  and  none  can  turn  him,  and  what  his  soul 
"  desireth  that  he  doeth." 

"  And  how  do  you  feel  toward  God's  people  ?" 

"  He  loves  them,  and  I  love  them.     Thy  people 
"  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God. 

"  How  do  you  feel  toward  the  work  of  God  that 
"  is  going  on  in  this  place  ?'' 

"  When  it  first  began,  I  felt  opposed  to  it.  I 
u  thought  we  should  have  a  gloomy  Summer,  and 
"  that  all  my  mirth  was  spoiled.  When  our  dear 
"  father  first  spoke  to  us  about  the  revival  and  about 
"our  own  souls/  I  inwardjy  sneered,  and  thought 
"all  our  pleasures  were  over.  But  I  feel  very 
"  differently  now.  It  has  been  a  memorable  Sum- 
"  mer  to  our  dear  family,  and  to  many  precious 
"  souls  in  this  place.  It  is  in  my  heart  to  bless 
"  God  that  I  did  not  leave  town,  as  I  thought  of 
"  doing,  and  that  I  have  not  been  called  out  of  the 
"  world  before  his  b]essed  Spirit  came  down." 

"  And  who  has  brought  you  to  this  state  of 
"  mind,  and  given  you  this  peace  and  joy  in  be- 
"  lieving." 

"  None  but  God.  His  grace,  his  almighty  and 
"  sovereign  grace  has  done  it.  There  was  nothing 
"  in  me. 

"  Jesus  sought  me  when  a  stranger, 
"  Wandering  from  the  fold  of  God," 


MEETING.  75 

"  I  did  not  take  a  step  till  he  led  me.     I  with- 
stood him  as  long  as  I  could." 

"  And  what  if  he  had  left  you  and  taken  other  sT 
''It  would  have  been  right.  I  was  greatly 
"  comforted  under  a  sermon  our  Pastor  preached 
"  from  this  text.  /  thank  thee  O  Father.  Lord 
"  of  heaven  and  earth,  that  thou  hast  hid  these 
u  things  from  the  wise  and  prudent  and  hast 
"  revealed  them  unto  babes.  Even  so,  Father !  for 
"  so  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight" 

::  It  is  a  sweet  thought,  I  replied.     It  made  the 
"  weeping  Saviour  rejoice  in  sjririt" 

"  O  had  he  not  pitied  the  state  you  were  in, 

"  Your  bosoms  his  love  had  ne'er  felt ; 
"  You  all  would  have  lived,  would  have  died  too  in  sin, 

"  And  sunk  with  the  load  of  your  guilt." 

"  What  was  there  in  you  that  could  merit  esteem, 

"  Or  give  the  Creator  delight  ? 
"  'Twas  Even  so  Father !  you  ever  must  sing, 

"  Because  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight. 

"  Then  give  all  the  glory  to  his  holy  name, 

"  To  him  all  the  glory  belongs  ; 
*'  Be  yours  the  high  joy  still  to  sound  forth  his  fame, 

"  And  crown  him  in  each  of  your  songs  ! 

I  now  rejoined  the  Pastor.     He  was  just  taking 
his  seat  near  an  elderly  man  whose  countenance 


76 


THE    INQUIRING 


was  unmeaning  and  inexpressive.  What  thought  I 
can  have  induced  this  man  to  come  to  the  Inquiring 
meeting  ?  His  Pastor  treated  him  with  a  great 
deal  of  kindness  and  condescension,  and  though 
he  was  slow  to  speak,  at  length  elicted  the  state  of 
his  mind  in  the  following  conversation. 

"  I  perceive  you  are  growing  old  rapidly,  my 
"good  friend." 

"  Yes  Sir,  I  am  sixty  eight  years  of  age,  a  very 
"ignorant  man." 

"Have  you  ever  thought  much  about  your 
« soul ?" 

"  No,  Sir,  I  have  not.  I  have  never  read  the 
"  Bible  much.  I  have  not  attended  church,  nor 
"  kept  the  Sabbath. 

"  Have  you  not  thought  more  of  the  subject 
"  with  a  few  weeks  ? 

"  I  have  been  to  church  of  late  more  than  I 
"  used  to  go,  and  have  been  thinking  of  my  sinful 
"and  miserable  condition.  But  I  do  not  know 
"  how  to  get  religion.  1  want  to  repent  and  became 
"  a  child  of  God,  but  do  not  know  how  to  do  it." 

"  Does  any  body  prevent  your  repenting  ?" 

«  No,  Sir." 

"  God  has  done  a  great  deal  to  lead  you  to  re- 
"  pentance.  He  has  given  you  the  Bible,  and  you 
"  say,  you  have  neglected  it.     He  has  given  you 


MEETING.  77 

"  his  Sabbaths,  and  you  have  neglected  these.  He 
"  has  given  you  his  Son,  and  you  have  neglected 
"  him.  He  has  given  you  time  enough  to  repent, 
"and  though  he  has  long  been  grieved  with 
"  you,  yet  has  he  borne  with  you  these  sixty  years. 
"  What  excuse  can  you  have  to  offer  when  God 
"  calls  you  to  his  bar,  why  you  have  not  repented?" 

"  I  have  no  excuse,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  how 
"  to  repent." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  Think  of  your  sins. 
"  Reflect  upon  them  deeply.  Think  how  many 
"  they  are,  and  how  great  they  are,  and  how  long 
"  you  have  sinned.  Recollect  that  they  have  all 
"  been  committed  against  a  Great  and  Holy  God  ; 
"a  God  who  has  been  unspeakably  kind  to  you, 
"and  who  has  given  his  Son  to  die  for  you  ;  and 
"be  humbled  and  abased  that  you  are  such  a 
"  a  sinner." 

"  O  Sir,  I  know  I  ought  to  feel  so." 

"  Think  too,  what  evil  your  sins  have  done, 
"Reflect  upon  your  exceeding  vileness  and 
"  terpitude.  See  how  your  sins  have  grieved  the 
"people  of  God,  and  injured  his  cause,  and 
"  ruined  your  own  soul,  and  the  souls  of  others, 
"  and  crucified  the  Lord  of  glory ;  and  then  loathe 
"  and  abhor  yourself  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes." 

"  Ah  me  !  exclaimed  the  old  man  !  what  a  sinner 
"  I  am !" 


78  THE    INQUIRING 

"  Forsake  your  sins,  exclaimed  his  minister, 
11  Break  off  your  iniquity  by  righteousness  and 
"  your  transgressions  by  turning  to  God.  And 
"  go  with  an  humble  and  contrite  spirit  to  the 
"  cross  of  Christ,  and  confess  all  your  guilt  there, 
"  and  ask  the  God  of  mercy,  if  there  can  be  any 
"  hope  for  you  now  in  this  eleventh  hour." 

"I  wish  I  could  do  it.  It  seems  to  me  1 
"  would  give  the  world  if  I  knew  how  to  go  to 
Christ." 

'•'  I  have  no  doubt  you  desire  to  be  delivered 
"  from  your  present  burden,  you  are  anxious  to 
"  escape  from  the  coming  wrath  ;  but  if  you  saw 
"  the  plague  and  vileness  of  your  heart,  you  would 
"  see  that  there  is  no  good  thing  in  it,  and  that  the 
"  sweet  exercises  of  genuine  repentance  you  have 
"  never  yet  desired.  Sure  I  am,  that  if  you  truly 
"  wish  to  repent,  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe 
"  to  keep  you  from  repenting." 

While  we  were  listening  to  this  conversation, 
the  attention  of  the  Pastor  was  turned  to  a  lady 
in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room.  She  was  past 
the  meridian  of  life,  the  mother  of  several  children 
and  much  of  a  gentlewoman  in  her  appearance  and 
mein.  One  of  her  daughters  was  present,  who 
had  already  expressed  the  hope  of  reconciliation 


MEETING.  79 

to  God.  I  perceived  that  her  Pastor  addressed 
her  with  familiarity,  and  as  though  she  had  often 
been  at  the  Inquiring  meeting  before. 

Taking  a  seat  on  a  bench  immediately  before 
her,  he  said,  "  Well,  madam,  I  hope  you  have  given 
"  up  the  controversy,  and  enjoy  peace  with  God." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  remained  silent. 

"  Do  you  feel  willing  to  be  left  behind,  while  so 
"  many  are  pressing  into   the   kingdom  ?" 

She  replied,  "  I  do  not  see  that  lean  do  anything 
"  more  than  I  have  done." 

"  Do  you  think,  that  when  you  come  to  stand 
11  at  the  bar  of  God.  you  will  feel  that  you  have 
"  done  all  that  you  could  ?" 

"  What  can  I  do  more  ?"  was  her  only  reply. 

"  And  what  have  you  done  ?"  said  her  Pastor. 
"  What  have  you  done,  except  sin  against  God  all 
"  your  days  ?  And  what  are  you  doing  now,  when 
"  his  Spirit  is  so  tenderly  striving  with  you,  except 
"  contending  with  your  Maker  ?" 

"  But,  sir,  I  cannot  change  my  own  heart.  So 
"the  Bible  teaches  me,  and  so  you  have  instructed 
"me  often." 

"Pardon  me  for  inquiring,"  said  the  Pastor, 
"what  is  the  object  of  this  remark?  Do  you 
"  make  it  because  you  see  and  feel  it  to  be  true,  or 

8 


SO  THE    INQUIRING 

"  because  you  want  an  excuse  for  not  loving 
"  God  ?  If  it  is  a  mere  excuse  for  not  giving 
'■your  heart  to  God,  it  behoves  you  to  be  satisfied 
u  that  it  is  such  an  one  as  God  will  accept.  If  it 
« is  not  such  as  you  yourself  are  persuaded  God 
"  will  accept,  then  do  not  utter  it.  Never,  never 
il  utter  it  again.  But  if  it  is  not  because  you  want 
"an  excuse;  if  you  feel  this  weighty  truth;  if 
uyou  are  deeply  sensible  that  you  are  in  the 
"  hands  of  God  ;  if  you  know  that  you  are  so  vile, 
;!  that  unless  the  living  God,  by  the  power  of  his 
"  grace,  take  from  you  the  heart  of  stone,  and  give 
11  you  a  heart  of  flesh ;  then  do  you  indeed  see 
"  that  you  are  in  a  lost  condition." 

"  O  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  just  this  lost 
"  creature !  Why  did  God  create  me  ?  Why 
"  did  he  give  me  existence  only  to  make  me  mise- 
"rable  ?"     And  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

There  was  no  small  emotion  in  the  room. 
Every  person  saw  what  it  was  to  contend  with 
God.  Numbers  seemed  moved  by  sympathy ; 
but  their  ears  were  open  to  instruction.  The 
lady  continued  weeping,  while  her  pastor  intreated 
her  no  longer  to  contend  with  God,  and  resist 
that  sovereign  power  which  alone  could  save  her 
from  despair. 

Just  at  this  moment,  an  incident  took  place,  the 


MEETING.  81 

mention  of  which  I  may  not  suppress.  The 
daughter  of  this  lady  was  present,  and  had  herself, 
a  few  days  before,  found  peace  and  joy  in  believ- 
ing. During  the  previous  conversation,  unob- 
served, she  had  removed  from  a  remote  part  of  the 
room,  and  occupied  a  seat  near  her  mother.  She 
was  deeply  affected  by  her  mother's  state  of  mind, 
and  with  one  arm  thrown  around  her  neck,  and  in 
a  low  beseeching  tone  of  voice,  said,  Dear  mother  ! 
O  the  fulness  there  is  in  Christ  I  Come  ivith  us 
to  this  ocean  of  mercy  /"  We  were  all  in  tears. 
We   literally  turned   away  to   weep.     "  O   Mrs. 

M ,"  said  her  Pastor,  "  the  blame  is  on  your 

"side,  and  not  on  God's.  God  is  right  and  the 
"  sinner  is  wrong.  That  ocean  of  mercy  !  Will 
"  you  not  repair  with  your  children  to  that  ocean 
"  of  mercy  ?" 

There  was  a  young  lady  occupying  a  seat  near 
the  centre  of  the  room,  who  had  gathered  around 
her  six  or  seven  others  not  far  from  from  her  own 
age,  with  whom  she  was  conversing,  though  in  a 
subdued  and  scarcely  audible  voice. 

One  of  this  little  cluster  I  observed  wept  bitterly. 
What  a  group,  thought  I !  How  delightful  if  this 
little  company  should  all  be  seeking  Jesus  !  if  this 
youthful  loveliness,  these  honours  as  they  just 
begin  to  bloom,  should  be  devoted  to  him  ! 


82  THE    INaUIRING 

"  Sarah,"  said  her  Pastor,  "  do  you  retain  your 
"  hope  of  the  divine  favour  still  ?" 

«  O  sir,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  very  happy 
"since  I  last  saw  you.  A  little  while  after  you 
"  left  me,  I  was  again  oppressed  with  a  sense  of 
•<  my  desperate  wickedness.  I  looked  up  and  saw 
••  against  what  a  God  I  had  been  sinning  all  my 
u  life  long,  and  I  was  oppressed  and  filled  with 
"  shame.  O  what  a  God  he  is !  How  good ! 
"  how  lovely  !  and  yet  how  fearful !  These 
'-'-  thoughts  of  God  filled  my  mind  with  great  joy, 
;'  and  it  seemed  as  though  I  could  do  nothing  but 
•'admire  the  excellency  and  loveliness  of  God. 
"God  was  very  near  to  me.  I.  could  not  help 
"  thinking  how  delightful  it  was  to  live  in  God's 
•<  world — to  be  his  creature — to  be  in  his  hand — to 
«  be  his.  child — to  call  him  my  Father,  and  to  love 
*  and  trust  him  forever." 

"  The  Bible,"  observed  her  Pastor,"  "  if  I  mis- 
«  take  not,  speaks  of  the  glory  of  God  in  the  face 
"of  Jesus  Christ." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  "  and  Dr.  Watts  beautifully 
•<  paraphrases  the  thought. 

"  See  where  it  shines  in  Jesus'  face, 
11  The  brightest  image  of  his  grace, 
"  God  in  the  person  of  his  Son, 
"  Hath  all  his  mightiest  works  outdone." 


MEETING.  83 

"  I  see  an  infinite  fulness  and  sufficiency  in  this 
"salvation.  He  is  a  hiding  place  from  the 
"  storm,  a  covert  from  the  tempest,  as  rivers  of 
"  water  in  a  dry  place,  and  as  the  shadow  of  a 
"  great  rock  in  a  weary  land.  I  think  I  can  say, 
"  Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou  mine  unbelief.  But. 
"sir,  these  dear  friends  of  mine — I  thought  I 
"  could  certainly  persuade  them  all  to  come  to 
"  Jesus  ;  it  seemed  to  me  so  easy  to  come  to  him, 
"  and  so  wicked  to  stay  away  ;  and  Christ  appears 
"  so  lovely.  But,  O  sir,  I  cannot  persuade  them. 
"  I  desire  to  take  them  all  in  my  arms  and  carry 
"  them  to  Christ."  It  seemed  as  though  the  young 
ladies  could  scarcely  refrain  from  loud  weeping. 
I  was  waiting  to  hear  what  my  friend  would 
address  to  this  interesting  circle,  but  he  simply 
repeated  the  following  lines  : 

"Welcome,  welcome,  dear  Redeemer, 
"Welcome  to  this  heart  of  mine  ; 
"  Lord,  I  make  a  full  surrender, 
"  Every  power  and  thought  be  thine  : 

"  Thine  intirely, 
"  Through  eternal  ages  thine." 

There  was  one  person  present,  who  from  his 
appearance,  I  judged  moved  in  the  higher  walks 
of  society,  and  who  from  his  conversation,  was  a 
very  intelligent  man,  and  not  ignorant  either  of 

8* 


34  THE    INQUIRING 

letters,  or  the  world.  I  afterwards  learned  that  he 
was  a  counsellor  at  law  of  very  respectable  stand- 
ing in  his  profession,  and  the  father  of  a  nume- 
rous family.  As  we  drew  near  him,  he  rose  and 
extended  his  hand  to  his  minister,  and  remarked  ; 

"  Sir,  this  I  presume  is  as  unexpected  to  you,  as 
'-'•  to  me." 

"  It  affords  me  great  pleasure,"  replied  the  cler- 
gyman, "  to  meet  you  here.  Are  not  some  of 
cc  your  children  in  the  room  ?" 

"  One  of  my  sons  I  saw  as  I  entered  the  door. 
•cTwo  weeks  ago,  I  should  have  been  not  a  little 
"  displeased  to  have  known  of  his  being  present 
"  at  such  a  place,  but  I  rejoice  now  to  meet  him 
"  even  here." 

"Your  views  of  religious  subjects  then  are 
somewhat  changed?" 

"  I  was  once  a  confirmed  Universal ist,  as  you 
"  well  know,  and  I  really  believed  that  soul-de- 
;c  stroying  system." 

"  And  what  has  disturbed  you  in  this  belief?" 

"  Not  long  after  the  day  of  fasting  and  prayer, 
"  which  was  set  apart  by  the  church  about  six 
•<  weeks  ago,  I  had  a  conversation  with  my  family 
"  physician,  who  is  a  sensible  and  pious  man,  on 
"  the  subject  of  universalism.  After  he  left  me, 
"  there  was  some  inquietude  on  my  mind.     I  felt 


MEETING.  85 

"  unhappy,  I  knew  not  why.  I  took  no  pleasure  in 
"the  world,  and  lost  my  zeal  in  my  profession." 

"  Perhaps  you  feared  the  doctrine  of  universal- 
"  ism  was  not  true  ?" 

■  I  cannot  say  that  I  feared  it  was  false,  or 
"  desired  it  might  be  true.  I  was  desirous  to  see 
"  it  as  it  is,  let  it  be  true  or  false.  But,  sir,  I  was 
"  greatly  agitated  on  this  subject,  and  so  much  so, 
"  that  I  could  not  sleep.  I  took  my  Bible  and 
"  turned  to  those  texts  which  I  had  long  considered 
il  as  a  proof  of  my  sentiments  ;  but  on  carefully 
"  reading  and  considering  them,  they  did  not  ap~ 
"  pear  so  conclusive  as  they  had  done." 

"  What  were  your  reflections  V 

"  I  determined  I  would  be  on  the  safe  side  ; 
"  andaslknew  I  had  no  religion,  resolved  to  attend 
"  to  it,  and  to  repent  and  believe  on  Jesus  Christ  as 
11  the  Saviour  of  lost  sinners." 

"  Did  you  find  no  difficulty  in  doing  this?" 

u  I  thought  I  could  do  it ;  and  then  if  my  sen- 
timents concerning  the  salvation  of  all  men 
"  should  not  prove  true,  I  should  be  safe.  Accord- 
K  ingly  I  set  about  it,  but  in  a  few  days  I  relapsed 
"into  my  old  careless  habits.  This  alarmed 
"me,  and  I  resolved  to  enter  on  the  business 
"  again.  Again  I  relapsed  into  carelessness  and 
"  again  I  resolved  to  become  religious  ;  but  to  no 


86  THE    INQUIRING 

"  better  effect  than  before,  until  at  length,  I  felt  in 
"  some  measure  my  dependence  on  God  to  enable 
"  me  to  keep  my  resolutions." 

"  And  what  became  of  your  universalism  ?" 

«  My  confidence  in  it  gradually  weakened,  and 
"  I  had  much  anxiety  and  concern  of  mind." 

«  How  did  you  feel  toward  those  truths  of  the 
»  Bible  which  stand  opposed  to  universalism,  and 
"  which  have  been  so  much  insisted  on  during 
"  this  season  of  the  outpouring  of  God's  Spirit." 

"I  contended  with  them,  and  even  more  than  I  was 
"  in  the  habit  of  doing  when  I  was  a  confirmed 
«  universalist.  The  doctrine  of  the  intire  deprav- 
« ity  of  the  human  heart,  the  doctrine  of  divine 
«  sovereignty  and  election  appeared  hard  sayings." 

"  Have  you  become  reconciled  to  these  doc- 
"  trines  ?" 

"  Permit  me  to  give  you  a  brief  narrative." 

"  On  a  particular  occasion  I  was  called  to  a 
"  neighbouring:  village.  As  I  was  riding  alone, 
"  God  was  pleased  so  to  discover  to  me  my  own 
"  heart,  that  for  a  considerable  time  I  have  no 
"  recollection  of  any  circumstance  or  object  about 
"  me.  My  attention  was  so  entirely  swallowed  up 
»  by  the  dreadful  discoveries  of  my  own  sinfulness, 
"  that  I  knew  of  nothing  else  which  passed  in  my 
"  mind,  until  at  length  I  found  myself  miles  beyond 


MEETING.  87 

"  the  place  of  my  destination,  and  the  shadows  of 
"  evening  shut  in  upon  me.  I  found  my  way  to 
"  such  lodgings  as  I  could,  but  could  not  sleep. 
"  There  was  a  heavy  load  on  my  mind.  In  the 
"  morning  I  returned  home,  without  attempting  to 
"  transact  my  business,  and  was  unable  for  several 
"  days  to  go  into  my  office." 

"  Have  you  found  relief?  and  if  you  have,  how 
«  did  you  find  it  ?" 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  answer  you,  because 
"  though  I  do  not  feel  happy,  yet  my  burden  has 
-•passed  away.  I  found  no  relief  until  about  ten 
M  days  since,  when  feeling  my  absolute  depen- 
"  dance  on  the  sovereign  will  of  God  to  dispose  of 
"  me  as  he  should  see  fit,  I  resigned  myself  into 
"  his  hands,  sensible  that  if  he  should  change  my 
"  vile  heart  I  should  be  saved  ;  but  if  not,  and  he 
"should  send  me  to  hell,  it  would  be  perfectly  just, 
"  and  I  should  see  it  and  know  it  forever." 

"  Have  you  established  the  worship  of  God  in 
"  your  family  ?" 

"  No  I  have  not,  but  it  is  my  purpose  to  do  so." 

"  Will  you  do  it  this  evening  ?" 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will." 

I  was  anxious  to  hear  this  conversation  contin- 
ued, but  a  collection  of  young  men  were  sitting 
just  behind  us  to  whom  I  perceived  the  clergyman 


88  THE    INQUIRING 

was  anxious  to  address  himself.  He  remained 
standing,  and  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  all  who 
were  near  him  could  hear,  said  ; 

"  And  which  of  you,  my  young  friends,  has  any 
"  interest  in  this  great  subject  ?  It  is  a  time  when 
"  God  is  drawing  near  and  when  it  is  awfully  haz- 
"  ardous  to  trifle  with  the  concerns  of  the  soul." 

For  a  moment,  there  was  no  reply.  At  length 
one  of  the  company  said  ; 

"  Sir,  we  wish  to  obtain  religion.  "We  shall 
"  never  have  a  better  time.  If  we  suffer  this  revi- 
"  val  to  pass  away  without  becoming  the  children 
"  of  God,  we  shall  probably  live  and  die  in  our 
"  sins." 

"  And  have  none  of  you,"  said  the  minister, 
"  reason  to  believe  you  have  made  your  peace 
"  with  God  ?" 

All  replied  in  the  negative  except  one,  and  he 
looked  up  as  though  he  desired,  but  durst  not 
give  a  different  answer. 

"  James,"  said  the  minister,  "  do  you  think  you 
"  are  a  christian  ?" 

"  My  distress  is  gone,  Sir,"  he  replied,  "  but  I 
"  am  afraid  I  am  not  a  christian.  I  feel  willing 
"  now  to  be  in  the  hands  of  God.  I  know  that  he 
"  is  great  and  good,  holy  and  gracious,  and  I  am 
<•  rejoiced  that  so  many  are  turning  to  the  Lord 


MEETING.  89 

"  and  loving  him.     But  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  love 
"  him." 

"  James,"  replied  his  pastor,  "  I  hope  you  will 
"  call  and  see  me  to-morrow.  And  you,  my 
"  young  friends,  I  know  it  is  very  possible  that 
"  you  may  die  as  you  have  lived,  without  God 
"  and  without  hope.  It  is  no  small  matter  to  en- 
"  ter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  You  are  sin- 
"  ners,  and  under  the  condemnation  of  God's  holy 
"  law.  Already  are  you  doomed  to  eternal  -death, 
"  and  unless  the  execution  of  this  sentence  can  be 
"  averted,  and  you  can  obtain  pardon  from  your 
"  offended  God,  you  must  perish.  But  to  obtain 
"  pardoning  mercy,  you  must  first  see  that  you 
"  need  it.  You  must  see  and  feel  that  you  are 
"  lost.  Lost !  lost !  lost !  O  how  certainly  is  the 
"  sinner  lost,  who  is  out  of  Christ !  Death  may  come 
"  and  find  you  lost.  And  then  you  cannot  escape. 
u  No,  you  cannot  escape  the  damnation  of  hell.  O 
11  what  a  view  is  it  to  look  upon  such  a  collection  of 
"youth  going  down  to  endless,  remediless  ruin !  Men 
"  and  angels  might  weep  over  such  a  scene  as  this." 

As  we  turned  from  this  interesting  group,  and 
approached  a  different  part  of  the  room,  we  passed 
a  young  lady  sobbing  almost  aloud.  The  Pastor 
turned  back. 

"  O  Sir,"  said  she,  "  I  am  a  poor  sinner,  going 
"  down  to  hell." 


90  THE    INQUIRING 

"  How  long,"  said  the  minister,  "  have  you  been 
"  in  this  state  of  mind  ?" 

"  My  mind  was  distressed  to  day,  under  the 
"  morning  sermon  ;  and  my  distress  increased  in 
"  the  afternoon.  I  did  not  mean  to  come  to  this 
"  meeting,  nor  let  any  body  know  how  I  felt.  But 
"  I  am  undone.  I  must  become  reconciled  to  Godj 
"  or  perish.  I  have  been  hanging  over  a  preci- 
"  pice  all  my  days,  but  never  saw  it  until  now." 

"  And  if  you  see  it  now,  so  much  the  more  in- 
"  excusable  and  guilty  will  you  be,  if  you  do  not 
"  escape  the  gulf." 

"But  how  can  I  escape  ?  I  would  be  glad  to  do 
"  it  if  I  could." 

"  My  young  friend,  what  prevents  your  es- 
"  caping,  but  your  own  reluctant  heart." 

She  still  wept  and  we  passed  on  to  a  young 
man  who  I  afterwards  ascertained  was  a  professor 
of  religion. 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  at  the  inquiring 
"  meeting,  said  the  minister." 

"  I  suppose  not,  Sir,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"As  you  well  know,  I  once  thought  myself  a 
u  christian.  Nor  did  I  mean,  or  desire  to  deceive 
11  myself,  or  be  deceived  in  this  hope.  But  when 
"  God  appeared  to  revive  his  work  among  us,  I 
"  thought  it  was  a  favourable  season  for  me  to  en- 


MEETING.  91 

(:  ter  into  the  foundation  of  my  hopes,  and  examine 
"  the  ground  on  which  I  stood.  This  thought 
"  was  strongly  impressed  on  my  mind,  especially 
"  for  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  and  I  could  not 
"  sleep  for  fear  I  was  building  on  the  sand.  I 
"  then  solemnly  resolved  to  give  up  my  confidence, 
"  if  I  could  not  find  scripture  evidence  of  a  change 
"  of  heart.  And  that  evidence  I  cannot  find.  I 
"  am  convinced  I  have  never  been  born  of  God. 
"  On  thursday  evening  last  at  the  lecture,  my 
"  hope  perished." 

This  young  man  was  in  deep  distress.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  saw  himself  in  the  gall  of 
bitterness  and  bonds  of  iniquity.  I  could  not  help 
saying  within  myself,  The  spirit  of  a  man  can 
sustain  his  infirmity,  but  a  wounded  spirit  who 
can  bear  ?  "  Though  I  have  professed  religion," 
continued  this  distressed  youth,  "  almost  four 
"  years,  yet  I  just  begin  to  feel  that  the  Bible  is 
"  true,  that  God  is  in  earnest,  that  I  am  a  lost  sin- 
"  ner,  and  wholly  in  the  hands  of  a  sovereign  God." 

Why  is  it,  thought  I,  that  ministers  and  the 

people  of  God  have  so  much  more  sympathy  for 

those  who  are  professedly  impenitent,  than  for  the 

self-deceived  ?  Are  there  no  solicitudes  for  the  false 

professor  ?  no  sympathies  for  those  who  have  a 

name  that  they  live,  while  they  are  dead  ?  There 

9 


92  THE    INQUIRING 

was  a  mournful  tone  and  emphasis  about  every 
thing  this  young  man  spoke,  that  sunk  to  my  soul. 
There  were  great  tenderness  and  sincerity  in  his 
manner,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  truly  an  awful  thing 
to  have  a  hope  that  might  perish  when  God  should 
take  away  the  soul. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  the  minister,  "  how  to 
"  address  you.  It  may  be  just  as  you  say,  that 
"  you  have  been  deceived  with  a  false  hope.  God 
"  often  shows  his  mighty  power  in  undeceiving 
"  the  deceived  at  such  a  time  as  this.  How  kind 
"  is  it  in  him  to  do  so,  and  at  a  season  when  his 
"  Spirit  is  descending,  not  only  to  reclaim  the 
"  backslider,  and  convert  the  self-hardened,  but  to 
"  awaken  and  convince,  and  convert  the  self-de- 
"  ceived  !  Be  ever  grateful  to  God,  my  young 
"  friend,  for  opening  your  eyes,  and  for  not  leav- 
"  ing  you  to  make  this  melancholy  discovery  when 
"  it  is  forever  too  late." 

"  O  sir,"  replied  he,  "  I  fear  it  is  too  late  now." 

"Why  should  you  fear  this?"  replied  his  Pastor.. 
"  It  is  never  too  late,  while  you  have  opportunity  to 
repent  and  believe  the  gospel.  The  blessed  Sa- 
viour invites  you  now." 

Toward  the  lower  part  of  the  room  and  near 
the  entrance,  sat  a  man  of  fine  visage,  gentle- 
manly appearance,  and,  as  I  should  suppose,  nearly 


MEETING.  93 

fifty  years  of  age.  As  we  turned  our  eyes  toward 
the  place  where  he  sat,  my  friend  remarked  to  me, 
"  The  gentleman  you  see  near  the  door  has  been  a 
"  great  opposer  of  religion.  He  moves  in  the  higher 
"  orders  of  society ;  has  groat  influence,  and  a  strong 
"  and  well  cultivated  mind.  Nothing  could  have 
"  brought  him  here  this  evening  but  the  Spirit  of 
«  God."  We  sat  ourselves  down  beside  him,  and 
after  a  moments  pause  he  himself  broke  the  silence, 
and  as  it  seemed  to  me,  almost  abruptly. 

"  It  is  here,"  said  he,  "  it  is  here  !" 

u  What  is  here  ?"  replied  his  minister. 

"  It  is  here,  just  as  you  have  preached.  I  hate 
"  his  character ;  I  hate  his  laws ;  I  hate  his  govern- 
« ment ;  I  hate  his  Son.  I  have  always  acted 
"from  a  sinful  heart.  I  have  never  done  any 
"thing  right.  I  used  to  think  I  had  done  many 
"  things  that  were  right  and  acceptable  in  the 
"  sight  of  God ;  but  I  am  all  wrong.  God  is  angry 
"  with  me,  and  dooms  me  to  hell.  It  is  impossible 
"  for  me  ever  to  be  happy.  I  shall  soon  be  called 
"  to  meet  death,  and  stand  before  God ;  and  I 
"  must  perish  !  It  seems  to  me,  that  with  every 
"  thought,  and  every  breath,  I  am  waxing  worse 
"  and  worse,  and  only  preparing  to  sink  deeper 
"  into  hell." 

«  How  long  Sir,"  said  my  friend,  "  have  you 
»  been  in  this  unhappy  state  of  mind  V 


94 


THE    INQUIRING 


"  Sir,  it  is  now  three  days,  and  it  seems  to  me  I 
"  cannot  live.  I  heard  to  day  that  my  son  is 
"  happy  in  the  hope  of  the  gospel,  and  this  has 
"  greatly  distressed  me  on  my  own  account." 

"  And  can  you  not  come  and  accept  of  mercy  ? 
u  All  things  are  ready.  The  Son  of  man  came  to 
u  seek  and  save  that  which  was  lost.  Why  should 
"  you  not  take  the  water  of  life  freely  7  God  makes 
"  no  hard  conditions." 

«  They  are  hard  to  me.  I  feel  that  I  can  never 
"  save  myself.  If  God  does  not  take  away  my 
"  obstinate  heart,  and  make  me  willing  in  the  day 
tc  of  his  power,  I  am  as  certain  that  I  shall  sink  to 
«  hell,  as  that  I  am  now  in  this  house  of  prayer." 

'•  I  know  it  is  so,"  replied  the  minister,  "  but 
« is  there  not  hope  in  that  sovereign,  omnipotent 
<■'-  grace,  when  every  other  hope  is  fled  ?" 

"  There  is,"  replied  the  trembling  sinner,  "  hope 
"  no  where  else.  But  to  my  mind,  it  is  awfully 
"  uncertain  whether  God  will  ever  consent  to 
"  make  me  a  vessel  of  mercy.  I  am  so  vile,  that 
f<  it  seems  to  me  I  must  be  left  to  perish." 

*  I  know,"  replied  his  minister,  "  that  it  would 
"  be  right.  God  may  leave  you  to  be  the  victim 
"of  your  own  obduracy.  I  cannot  help  you. 
"  No  creature  can  help  you  ^  you  are  in  God's 
«  hands," 


MEETING.  95 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  as  the  clay  is  in  the  hands  of 
"the  potter." 

"  Go  then,  go  to  his  mercy  seat  and  throw  your- 
"  self  upon  his  sovereign  power  and  love.  Tell 
"  him  you  deserve  to  die ;  but  inquire  of  him, 
"  whether  there  may  not  yet  be  hope  ?  Go  in  the 
"name  and  love  of  Jesus  the  Great  Mediator. 
"  Go  in  happy  and  encouraged  dependance  on 
"  almighty  grace.  God  says  to  every  convinced 
"  sinner,  Let  him  take  hold  of  my  strength  and 
"  be  at  peace  with  me,  and  he  shall  be  at  peace 
"  with  me? 

"  O  Sir,"  said  he,  "  pray  for  me." 

We  rose  to  leave  him,  and  just  as  we  were 
going,  we  heard  him  say,  ■<  Him  that  cometh  to 
"  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out?  "  Yes,  "  answer- 
ed I,  "He  is  not  a  man  that  he  should  lie,  nor 
"  the  son  of  man  that  he  should  repent.  It  is  a 
"faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
«  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save 
"  sinners? 

I  could  perceive  that  he  wept.  "  I  have  not  a 
word  to  say,  observed  he,  if  he  casts  me  off."  And 
he  wept  profusely. 

It  was  now  after  9  o'clock,  and  it  was  thought 
best  to  bring  the  meeting  to  a  close.  I  have  wept 
with  the  afflicted  in  the  chambers  of  mourning.    I 


96 


THE    INQUIRING 


have  stood  by  the  couch  of  the  dying  sinner.  I 
have  passed  through  scenes  where  some  twenty 
or  thirty  of  my  fellow  men  were  in  the  agonies  of 
dissolution,  and  groans,  and  sighs,  and  songs  of 
praise  mingled  with  every  breath.  But  never  be- 
fore did  I  witness  such  a  scene  as  this.  Here 
were  the  old  and  the  young,  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  ignorant  and  the  learned,  the  mother 
and  the  daughter,  together  inquiring  what  they 
should  do  to  be  saved.  Here  was  the  alarmed 
and  awakened  sinner,  just  prepared  to  suppress 
the  incipient  remonstrances  of  conscience,  and 
return  to  his  wonted  security,  or  lay  hold  of  a 
premature  and  delusive  hope.  Here  was  the  old 
professor,  with  all  his  former  confidence  shaken 
and  his  hopes  shivering  as  though  they  had  been 
blasted  by  the  tempest.  Here  were  the  burdened 
and  convinced,  who  felt  as  though  their  iniquity 
and  their  punishment  were  greater  than  they 
could  bear,  who  sat  speechless  and  condemned, 
while  despair  and  anguish  seemed  settled  on 
every  feature.  Here  was  one  whose  enmity  to 
God  but  a  few  days  since  was  so  deep-rooted  and 
implacable,  that  he  seemed  almost  like  a  fiend  in 
human  form,  now  «  clothed  in  his  right  mind," 
and  soft  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.  Here  was  a  circle 
of  young  converts  into  whose  bosom  light  had 


MEETING.  97 

dawned  like  the  rays  of  the  morning,  and  who 
had  just  begun  their  everlasting  song.  And 
here  were  others  who  for  weeks  had  been  under 
deep  dejection  ;  who  complained  that  wearisome 
nights  were  appointed  unto  them,  and  who  were 
still  wading  through  deep  waters  and  thick  dark- 
ness. I  could  not  but  advert  to  the  glory  of  that 
scene  at  Sinai,  when  the  camp  of  Israel  trembled, 
and  even  Moses  said,  /  do  exceedingly  fear  and 
quake.  But  though  it  was  a  time  of  trembling, 
it  was  a  time  of  awful  stillness.  It  was  the  still 
small  voice  which  made  the  prophet  "  wrap  his 
face  in  his  mantle."  God  was  there,  and  in  the 
glory  of  his  existence,  power,  justice,  mercy, 
sovereignty  and  faithfulness. 

I  felt  no  small  degree  of  solicitude  that  so  solemn 
a  meeting  should  leave  a  right  impression  on  every 
mind  present.  And  while  this  thought  was  passing 
through  my  mind,  my  worthy  brother  rose  and 
made  in  substance  the  following  appropriate  and 
affecting  remarks. 

My  dear  friends,  I  have  been  deeply  interested 
in  this  meeting.  I  trust  we  shall  all  remember  it, 
and  carry  the  remembrance  of  it  to  our  graves, 
and  to  the  bar  of  judgment.  God  grant  that  we 
may  all  bear  it  in  humble  and  grateful  remem- 
brance, when  his  ransomed  ones  come  to  Mount 


9S  THE    INQUIRING 

Zion  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their 
heads  ! 

Some  of  you,  I  would  fondly  hope,  God  has 
made  willing  in  the  day  of  his  power.  O  what  a 
subject  of  contemplation  to  a  benevolent  mind ! 
To  be  redeemed  from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  re- 
ceive the  adoption  of  sons  ;  to  be  plucked  as 
brands  out  of  the  fire,  and  set  forth  to  shine  as 
lights  in  the  world  ;  what  a  change  is  this  !  How 
immeasurable  the  goodness  of  God  in  making  you 
the  subjects  of  his  grace  and  the  heirs  of  his 
kingdom  !  Others  are  left  blinded  by  the  deceit- 
fulness  and  chained  by  the  depravity  of  their  own 
hearts,  while  you  are  brought  out  of  darkness  into 
God's  marvellous  light,  and  enjoy  the  liberty  of  the 
sons  of  God.  O  will  you  not  feel  that  you  are  not 
your  own,  but  bought  with  a  price,  and  glorify 
God  in  your  bodies  and  spirits  which  are  his  ? 
"  By  theix  fruits  ye  shall  know  them."  God  grant 
that  you  may  hold  on,  and  hold  fast,  and  hold  out 
to  the  end  ! 

But  what  shall  I  say  to  some  persons  present  ?  Be- 
loved friends,  some  of  you  have  never  yet  seen 
the  plague  of  your  hearts.  You  are  not  thought- 
less. You  are  not  immersed  in  the  enjoyments  of 
this  perishable  world.  You  are  afraid  of  death 
and  eternity  and  the  wrath  of  God.     You  have 


MEETING.  99 

formed  solemn  resolutions  to  enter  on  a  new 
course  of  life  ;  and  you  do  not  as  yet  see  any 
insuperable  difficulty  in  your  way.  But  my 
dear  friends,  you  are  bound — bound  by  the 
cords  of  sin.  Your  feet  stand  on  slippery  places. 
It  is  a  very  doubtful  matter  whether  you  will 
ever  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  You  may 
live  through  this  revival,  and  become  more  and 
more  hardened.  And  you  may  at  last,  see  many 
come  from  the  North  and  the  South,  the  East 
and  the  West,  and  sit  down  with  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  you 
yourselves  cast  out.  O  that  my  head  were  waters 
and  mine  eyes  a  fountain  of  tears,  that  I  might 
weep  day  and  night  for  you  who  are  thus  grieving 
the  Holy  Spirit  of  God. 

There  are  some  among  you  also,  whom  I 
would  fain  comfort,  but  may  not,  because  they 
stay  away  from  Christ.  You  feel  the  burden 
of  your  sins,  and  yet  refuse  to  come  to  the 
Saviour.  You  fear  that  you  are  condemned, 
and  well  may  your  fear  it.  God  is  angry  with 
the  wicked  every  day.  So  long  as  you  are 
out  of  Christ  there  is  cause  for  fear.  If  you  die 
without  an  interest  in  his  atoning  blood,  nothing 
can  keep  you  from  everlasting  burnings.  And 
who  can  tell  when  death  will  invade  your  pillow  ? 


100  THE    INQUIRING 

Who  can  tell,  but  you  have  well  nigh  exhausted 
the  divine  long-suffering,  and  may  soon  be  called 
to  give  up  your  account  ?  O  consider  that  you 
are  going  down  to  hell.  This  night,  this  hour, 
turn  and  live.  If  you  have  nothing  of  your  own 
to  plead,  see  the  fulness,  the  unspeakable  fulness 
of  Christ.  If  you  have  no  good  thing,  come  as 
you  are  to  Jesus  Christ.  If  you  are  utterly  un- 
worthy, remember  it  will  not  make  you  worthy 
to  stay  away  from  Christ.  If  you  deserve  to 
sink  to  hell,  come  and  tell  him  your  ill  desert ; 
confess  it  all  ;  throw  yourselves  at  his  feet ;  and 
cast  yourselves  upon  his  free  and  sovereign  grace. 
Go  from  this  house  humbled  and  repenting  sin- 
ners. Go  silently  to  your  closets.  Look  not, 
speak  not  to  creatures,  but  to  Christ.  He  is  the 
hiding  place.  He  will  save  you  by  himself  alone, 
or  leave  you  all  to  perish.  He  will  have  all  the 
glory,  or  you  shall  never  join  the  song  of  his  re- 
deemed. 

After  these  remarks,  which  were  listened  to  with 
eagerness  and  tears,  we  all  bowed  ourselves  before 
God,  in  a  short  prayer,  and  the  exercises  of  the 
evening  were  closed  with  the  following  hymn  : 

11  Come,  ye  weary,  heavy  laden, 
"Lost  and  ruin'd  by  the  fall  j 


MEETING.  10  L 

If  you  tarry  till  you're  better, 
"You  will  never  come  at  all : 

"  Not  the  righteous — 
11  Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call. 

"Let  not  conscience  make  you  linger, 

"  Nor  of  fitness  fondly  dream  ; 
"  All  the  fitness  he  requireth, 

"Is  to  feel  your  need  of  him  : 
"  This  he  gives  you — 

"'Tis  the  Spirit's  rising  beam. 

*•  Lo  !  th'  incarnate  God  ascended, 

"Pleads  the  merit  of  his  blood  ; 
"Venture  on  him,  venture  wholly, 

"  Let  no  other  trust  intrude  : 
"  None  but  Jesus 

"Can  do  helpless  sinners  good." 

The  last  two  lines  were  repeated  with  a  sweet  and 
subdued  emphasis,  and  seemed  to  reach  every 
heart, 

"  None  but  Jesus, 

"  None  but  Jesus, 

"  Can  do  helpless  sinners  good." 

I  returned  to  my  lodgings,  and  gave  thanks  to 
the  Father  of  lights  that  I  had  been  permitted  to 
witness  such  a  scene.     The  meeting  for  prayer  in 

the  school  room,  I  learned  from  Mrs.  S ,  was 

truly  a  blessed  meeting.    The  next  morning  we 


102  THE    INQUIRING 

awoke  early,  and  pursued  our  journey  with  emo- 
tions we  shall  not  easily  forget.  We  rode  over 
the  plain,  and  began  to  ascend  the  hills  just  as 
the  sun  dawned.  Whether  my  mind  had  become 
unusually  tranquil  and  elevated  by  the  scenes 
I  had  witnessed,  or  whether  some  kind  and  gra- 
cious influence  moved  it  at  that  sweet  hour,  I  can- 
not tell.  But  joys  that  were  past  were  brought 
back  upon  my  soul,  and  I  was  reminded  of  the 
hour  when  I  have  hoped  old  things  jiassed 
away,  and  all  things  became  new,  I  then  saw 
God  in  every  thing  and  was  happy.  So  now, 
every  thing  around  me  was  full  of  God — O  how 
full  of  God !  The  plain,  the  village,  the  dis- 
tant mountains  as  I  stopped  to  look  back  upon 
them,  were  delightfully  resplendent  with  the  good- 
ness, wisdom  and  power  of  their  Great  Maker. 
The  very  light  and  atmosphere  seemed  all  full  of 
God.  My  mind  was  as  calm  as  the  soft  breezes 
which  fanned  the  forest,  and  buoyant  as  its  bend- 
ing' foliage.  It  seemed  to  me  the  face  of  nature 
was  never  lighted  up  with  such  smiles  before. 
The  distant  horizon  was  spread  out  far  as  the  eye 
could  extend  itself,  like  the  bosom  of  a  peaceful 
lake.  Just  hovering  over  its  remote  verge,  was  a 
deep  mild  cloud,  resembling  a  chain  of  mountains 
stretching  along  for  leagues  on  either  side,  while 


MEETING.  103 

in  its  rear  the  rising  sun  shed  upward  his  blushing 
radiance,  every  where  waking  the  melody  of 
praise. 


10 


No.  IV. 


letter  to  a  young  clergyman. 

New  York,  Nov.,  1836. 

Rev.  and  dear  Brother  : 

I  can  truly  sympathize  with  you  when 
you  say,  "  I  feel  myself  to  be  a  very  unprofitable 
minister."  Nor  do  I  know  that  I  can  give  you 
any  "  hints"  that  will  be  of  use  to  you  in  your 
great  and  important  work.  There  is  a  single 
point  in  relation  to  which  I  will  venture  to  throw 
out  some  suggestions. 

Will  you  indulge  me  a  few  moments,  while  I 
direct  your  attention  to  that  part  of  ministerial 
labour  which  is  to  constitute  the  great  business  of 
of  his  life, — I  mean  the  instructions  of  the  pulpit. 

I  know  not  how  you  can  more  magnify  the 
pastoral  office,  than  by  exalting,  and  performing 
acceptably  and  profitably,  the  appropriate  ser- 
vices of  the  sacred  desk.  By  far  the  most  import- 
ant part  of  your  labours  will  be  found  in  the  du- 
ties which  devolve  upon  you  as  a  public  teacher. 


LETTER  TO  A  YOUNG  CLERGYMAN.  105 

u  Go,  teach  all  nations''' — "  A  bishop  mast  be 
apt  to  teach" — "  The  same  commit  thou  to 
faithful  men,  who  shall  be  able  to  teach  others 
also'1 — ■••'  As  ye  go  preach" — "  Preach  the 
word" — "  We  preach  Christ  crucified" — "  Faith 
cometh  by  hearing" — "  It  pleased  God,  through 
the  foolishness  of  preaching,  to  save  them  that 
believe"  What  is  the  import  of  these  and  similar 
thoughts,  if  they  do  not  inculcate  the  idea,  that  the 
first  and  great  business  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
is  to  become  a  public  teacher — an  able  minister 
of  the  Neio  Testament. 

The  design  of  God  in  the  gospel  of  his  Son  is 
to  rescue  innumerable  millions  from  the  conse- 
quences of  the  first  apostacy,  and  fit  them  by  the 
power  of  his  grace  for  the  joys  of  his  right  hand. 
But  they  are  sitting  in  darkness,  and  in  the  val- 
ley of  the  shadoiv  of  death.  The  instrument — 
the  only  instrument  of  their  moral  renovation  is 
truth — his  own  truth.  Had  the  Holy  Scriptures 
of  themselves  been  sufficient  to  constitute  this 
instrumentality,  he  would  have  given  the  world 
only  the  Holy  Scriptures.  But  he  has  appointed  a 
distinct  order  of  men,  whose  special  and  respon- 
sible employment  is  to  illustrate,  defend,  and 
enforce  the  truth  which  he  has  revealed ;  to  call 
up  the  attention  of  a  world  that  lieth  in  wicked- 


106  LETTER    TO    A 

ness  ;  and  in  humble  dependance  upon  his  Spirit, 
to  turn  them  from  idols  to  serve  the  living  God, 
and  to  wait  for  his  Son  from  heaven. 

There  is  wonderful  wisdom  in  this  arrange- 
ment. It  is  one  of  the  great  peculiarities  of  Chris- 
tianity, that  its  Founder  has  instituted  such  a 
class  of  men  as  the  public  teachers  of  his  religion. 
Orders  of  men  there  have  been,  and  still  are  in 
Pagan  lands  for  the  performance  of  religious  cere- 
monies, and  to  "  conduct  the  pomp  of  lustrations 
and  sacrifices  ;"  but  I  have  yet  to  learn  if  there  be 
any  such  order,  either  in  ancient  or  modern  times, 
except  under  the  system  of  religion  revealed  in 
the  Bible,  set  apart  for  the  inculcation  of  moral 
and  religious  truth.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
policy  of  false  religions  has  been  to  excite  the 
curiosity  of  men  without  gratifying  it ;  to  throw 
around  their  oracles  the  air  of  mystery  ;  to  hold 
the  world  in  the  bondage  of  ignorance  ;  and  to 
have  the  credit  of  knowing  what  none  but  those 
who  had  intercourse  with  the  gods  knew. 

The  divine  institution  of  the  Christian  minis- 
try gives  great  weight  and  importance,  in  my 
humble  judgment,  to  the  instructions  of  the  sanc- 
tuary. A  true  religion  is  thus  invested  with  a 
sort  of  self-perpetuating  power.  There  is  no  other 
way  in  which  the  knowledge  and  worship  of  the 


YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  107 

true  God  can  be  maintained.  No  religion,  which 
does  not  owe  its  continuance  to  the  wicked  pas- 
sions of  men,  can  stand  long  without  an  order  of 
religious  instructors.  The  pulpit  distinguishes 
Christian  lands  from  all  other  lands,  whether  Pa- 
gan, or  Mahometan.  The  pulpit  is  the  defence, 
the  strength,  the  glory  of  the  church.  And  hence 
the  history  of  the  pulpit  furnishes  the  moral  his- 
tory of  the  world.  There  is  no  institution  that 
exerts  so  powerful  an  influence  on  the  wide  circle 
of  human  interests  as  this.  Under  God,  the  tem- 
poral and  eternal  well  being  of  mankind  are  sus- 
pended upon  a  spiritual,  faithful,  able  ministry. 
As  the  means  of  preserving  the  minds  of  men 
from  the  seductive  and  pernicious  influence  of 
error  and  wickedness,  and  turning  them  to  the 
paths  of  life  and  peace — as  the  depository  of  truth 
and  directory  in  morals  and  duty — such  a  ministry 
is  the  light  of  the  world. 

I  do  not  depreciate  the  Christian  press,  when  I 
say  it  never  was  designed  for  the  instruction  of 
the  great  mass  of  mankind.  Constituted  and  con- 
ditioned as  they  ever  have  been,  and  now  are,  the 
mass  of  men  have  neither  information  nor  time  to 
be  intelligent  readers.  To  the  poor  the  gospel  is 
preached.  Not  more  certainly  is  truth  the  foun- 
dation of  knowledge,  holiness,  and  happiness,  and 


108  LETTER    TO    A 

the  gospel  the  system  of  truth,  than  the  living- 
teacher  is  the  great  means  of  making  known  the 
gospel.  I  fear  none  of  us  appreciate  as  we  ought 
the  immense  importance  of  preaching.  Even  the 
most  intelligent  portion  of  the  reading  community 
derive  their  religious  sentiments  from  the  sacred 
desk.  Few,  very  few  of  them  are  readers  of  re- 
ligious books.  Other  streams  there  are ;  but  a 
well  furnished  pulpit  is  the  fountain  of  religious 
knowledge.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  public  in- 
structions of  the  sanctuary  mould  the  moral  in- 
tellect and  character  of  men,  more  than  any  other3 
and  all  other  causes  combined. 

Can  this  be  doubted,  if  we  look  at  the  real  state 
of  the  case  ?  Think  of  such  men  as  Edwards,  or 
Witherspoon,  or  Davies,  or  Chalmers,  having 
access  to  some  five  hundred,  or  two  thousand 
minds,  two  or  three  times  in  each  week ; — minds 
that  are  broad  awake,  and  perhaps  intensely  inter- 
ested !  Such  a  preacher  puts  a  volume  of  well 
digested  instruction,  upon  subjects  the  most  deeply 
interesting  and  important  that  can  be  conceived, 
not  into  the  hands  of  a  solitary  individual,  or  of  a 
family,  but  simultaneously  into  the  hands  of  hun- 
dreds. He  does  this  one  hundred  and  fifty  times 
a  year.  Who  does  not  see  that  if  his  own  mind 
be  taught  of  God,  and  laboriously  disciplined,  and 


YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  109 

liberally  furnished,  and  if  he  is  faithful  to  his 
trust,  an  immense  amount  of  truth  must  thus  be 
poured  upon  the  benighted  intellect  of  men,  even 
within  the  short  compass  of  a  very  few  years? 
Let  such  a  ministry  be  widely  and  densely  scat- 
tered throughout  the  land,  delivering  the  truth, 
not  in  the  enticing  ivords  of  marts  wisdom,  but 
in  demonstration  of  the  Sjririt  and  of  power ; 
and  how  soon  would  it  bloom  like  Eden  and  be- 
come as  the  garden  of  the  Lord  !  Not  to  a  village, 
a  city,  or  an  extended  district,  would  such  a 
ministry  confine  its  influence ;  but  like  the  sun,  its 
going  forth  would  be  from  the  end  of  the  heaven, 
and  its  circuit  would  be  unto  the  ends  of  it ; 
and  nothing  would  be  hid  from  the  heat  thereof. 
Is  it  not  an  amazing  privilege  to  have  access  to 
such  a  mass  of  mind  as  is  submitted  to  an  instruc- 
tive and  faithful  minister  of  the  gospel  with  every 
returning  day  of  the  Son  of  Man — thus  putting  at 
his  controul  one  seventh  part  of  human  life  for 
the  great  purpose  of  moral  and  religious  instruc- 
tion. "  The  great  praise  of  Socrates,"  says  Dr. 
Johnson,  «  is  that  he  drew  the  wits  of  Greece  from 
"  the  vain  pursuit  of  natural  philosophy  to  moral 
"  inquiries."  The  great  privilege  of  the  gospel 
ministry  is  that  it  turns  the  minds  of  men  from 
the  vain  pursuit  of  all  their  philosophical  specula- 


110  LETTER    TO    A 

tions  to  the  law  of  God  and  to  the  cross  of  Christ. 
It  is  no  wonder  the  great  Apostle  exclaimed, 
"  Who  is  sufficient  for  these  things  /"  Is  there 
not  a  responsibility  attached  to  the  services  of  the 
pulpit  that  might  well  make  an  angel  tremble  ? 
O  who  that  duly  reflects  on  the  solemnity  of  such 
a  calling,  must  not  be  oppressed,  if  not  over- 
whelmed !  Nor  is  there  any  consolation  in  the 
midst  of  this  fearful  solicitude — no,  not  even  from 
the  promised  presence  of  his  Saviour, — to  the  man 
who  seeks  not,  labours  not,  prays  not  thus  to  im- 
press and  penetrate  the  minds  of  those  committed 
to  his  charge. 

In  the  whole  course  of  your  ministrations 
therefore,  let  your  mind  be  directed  toward  that 
department  of  labour  to  which  it  must  always  be 
mainly  applied.  Aim  early,  aim  constantly  to 
furnish  yourself  to  become  a  preacher.  Every 
thing  you  do,  or  leave  undone  should  have  influ- 
ence on  your  usefulness  as  a  preacher.  Instruc- 
tion from  the  pulpit  is  to  be  your  great  business. 
It  is  a  part  of  a  ministers  duty,  which  holds  the 
first  place,  and  which  may  never  be  yielded  to 
any  other.  No  other  contributes  so  much  to  his 
usefulness.  Other  duties  he  has.  He  must  visit 
the  sick  and  the  dying.  He  must  bind  up  the 
broken  hearted  in  the  house  of  mourning.     He 


0 

YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  Ill 

must  lift  his  consolatory  and  warning  voice  in  the 
land  of  silence  and  amid  the  memorials  of  the 
dead.  He  must  be  watchful  too,  how  he  neglects 
to  cultivate  those  social  affections  whose  cheerful 
and  benignant  influence  the  piety  of  the  gospel 
elevates  and  purifies,  and  which  wind  their  way 
into  the  kindest  sympathies  of  those  he  serves. 
But  after  all,  he  must  remember  that  his  great 
business  is  to  prepare  for  the  public  service  of  the 
house  of  God.  In  no  other  ought  he  to  be,  and 
for  no  other  does  he  need  to  be  so  well  furnished. 
Nothing  may  interfere  with  his  duty  of  preparing 
for  the  Sabbath.  Next  to  actual  immorality  and 
the  want  of  personal  religion,  there  is  no  such  de- 
fect in  a  minister's  character  as  deficiency  in  his 
public  instructions.  I  look  upon  the  minister  who 
neglects  the  wants  of  the  whole  body  of  his  people 
from  a  false  regard  to  the  wants  of  single  family, 
or  a  single  individual,  as  criminally  unfaithful  to 
his  high  and  holy  trust.  Judge  ye  whether  it  is 
the  more  profitable  to  discourse  instructively,  ap- 
propriately, tenderly,  with  a  single  family,  or  to 
discourse  instructively,  appropriately,  tenderly 
with  the  assembled  tribes  of  God's  Israel  ?  I  would 
not  have  you  depreciate  pastoral  visitation.  God 
forbid  !  But  I  would  have  you  appreciate  the  par- 
amount duties   of  the   Sanctuary.      A   minister 


112  LETTER    TO    A 

should  never  leave  the  place  of  study  and  prayer, 
except  for  the  performance  of  duties  which  do  not 
interfere  with  his  preparations  for  the  pulpit.  I 
have  known  men  who  devoted  five  days  in  the 
week  to  pastoral  visitation,  and  satisfied  their 
consciences  with  a  single  day's  preparation  for  the 
Sabbath.  And  I  have  heard  their  congregations 
exclaim,  My  leanness !  my  leanness !  wo  unto 
me  !  And  I  have  seen  their  once  verdant  and 
prolific  field  of  labour  becoming  like  the  heath  in 
the  desert. 

Paul  counsels  Timothy,  to  give  attendance  to 
reading.  This  young  disciple  was  on  his  pre- 
paratory course.  And  so  are  you.  And  so  am  I. 
And  so  are  those  our  fathers  who  make  their 
profiting  appear  into  all.  In  modern  times,  we 
are  in  the  habit  of  making  a  distinction  between 
the  preacher  and  the  Pastor.  But  it  is  a  distinc- 
tion originating  with  men.  The  word  of  God 
makes  no  such  distinction.  The  duty  of  a 
Pastor  is  to  feed  his  flock.  And  how  shall  he 
feed  them  ?  When  the  God  of  Israel  promised 
distinguished  blessings  to  his  ancient  people,  what 
does  he  say  he  will  give  them  / — Wealth? — hon- 
our ? —  power? — triumph  over  their  enemies?  / 
will  give  you,  says  he,  pastors  according  to  mine 
heart,  which  shall  feed  you  with  knowledge  and 


YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  113 

understanding.  In  the  acceptation  which  the 
scriptures  attach  to  the  term,  a  good  Pastor  can- 
not be  a  bad  preacher,  nor  can  a  good  preacher 
be  a  bad  pastor ;  though  in  the  modern  accepta- 
tion, it  might  be  said  that  a  good  pastor  may  be  a 
bad  preacher,  while  a  good  preacher  may  be  a  bad 
pastor. 

The  career  of  a  faithful  minister  of  the  gospel, 
is  a  career  of  continued,  unwearied,  unrelaxed 
preparation.  No  man  can  teach  what  he  has  not 
learned.  Thus  far  you  have  been  not  so  much 
preparing  to  preach,  as  preparing  to  study.  The 
stock  of  knowledge  which  a  young  man  lays  up 
in  a  Theological  Seminary,  and  in  a  few  of  the 
early  years  of  his  ministry  will  be  exhausted  in  a 
very  little  while.  Nothing  will  save  him  from 
absolute  barrenness,  if  he  be  not  a  progressive  and 
perpetual  learner.  Native  talent  will  go  but  a 
little  way,  and  will  last  but  a  little  while,  where  a 
minister's  object  is  not  progressively  to  obtain  re- 
ligious instruction.  No  vigour,  or  vivacity  of  in- 
tellect, no  coloquial  powers,  no  social  intercourse 
can  supply  the  defect  of  an  uninstructive,  monot- 
onous, jejune  pulpit.  If  you  would  not  that  your 
high  and  holy  office  be  debased  and  degraded  by 
aiming  at  other  objects  than  the  spiritual  and 
eternal  interests  of  men,  you  will  direct  the  con- 


114  LETTER    TO    A 

centration  of  your  powers  to  the  services  of  the 
sanctuary.  Nothing  will  divert  you  from  this 
design.  Thought,  time,  reading,  study,  observa- 
tion, watchfulness,  prayer,  all  are  necessary  in 
order  to  make  full  proof  of  your  ministry.  Your 
discourses  must  be  well  and  thoroughly  digested 
by  your  own  mind  and  heart,  if  you  would  have 
them  profitable  to  them  that  hear  you.  And  if 
you  are  successful  in  this  exercise,  you  must  de- 
light in  it.  You  must  have  a  passion  for  study. 
As  one  of  the  first  qualifications  for  the  office  of  a 
minister  of  the  gospel  is  a  decided  predilection  for 
the  office,  so  no  man  will  be  likely  to  be  well 
furnished  for  the  services  of  the  pulpit,  without  a 
decided  predilection  for  that  kind  of  effort  by 
which  he  becomes  furnished.  There  are  indeed 
a  few  men — very  few — of  too  mercurial  a  cast  to 
contend  succesfully  with  the  toil  of  preparing  a 
well  digested  discourse,  and  who  require  the  ex- 
citement of  an  audience,  the  incidents  of  the  occa- 
sion, and  the  tones  of  their  own  voice,  to  give 
energy  to  their  conceptions,  and  to  their  minds  a 
propelling:  power.  And  if  such  men  ever  become 
profitable  preachers,  it  is  only  by  taking  unwea- 
ried pains  to  furnish  their  minds  richly  with  all 
knowledge,  and  to  leave  no  faculty  without  the 
fullest  and  completest  cultivation. 


YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  115 

As  to  the  "  best  methods  of  successful  prepara- 
tion for  the  pulpit/'  I  feel  no  small  degree  of  dif- 
fidence in  submitting  any  suggestions.  Your 
very  inquiry  on  this  subject  indicates  that  your 
mind  is  on  the  right  track.  It  is  of  no  inconsid- 
erable importance  to  the  usefulness  of  a  minister 
that  the  subjects  of  his  public  discourses  be  wisely 
selected  and  appropriate  to  the  condition  of  his 
people.  The  youthful  ministry  are  very  apt  to  be 
determined  in  their  selection  of  subjects  by  their 
own  resources  ;  whereas  a  rigid  determination,  so 
far  as  is  possible,  to  furnish  appropriate  instruc- 
tion, while  it  would  necessarily  augment  their 
resources,  would  commend  them  to  every  man's 
conscience  in  the  sight  of  God.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  a  preacher  needs  a  Common  Place  Book, 
as  much  as  an  antiquary,  or  a  statesman  ;  and 
that  the  more  it  is  enriched,  the  more  certainly 
will  he  give  variety,  and  richness,  as  well  as  ten- 
derness and  power  to  his  illustrations  of  God's 
truth.  I  am  confident  that  I  have  been  the  loser 
by  inattention  to  this  article  until  comparatively  a 
late  period  in  my  ministry.  You  will  of  course 
also  have  your  Text  Book,  where  you  will  note 
down  from  time  to  time  such  subjects  for  sermons 
as  strike  you,  and  where  you  will  make  such 
references  to  valuable  thoughts  as  may  fall  in  your 

11 


116  LETTER    TO    A 

way  in  the  course  of  your  general  reading  and 
reflection.  If  I  mistake  not,  you  may  find  the 
following  hint  of  some  service.  In  your  daily  and 
careful  study  of  the  Scriptures,  you  will  find  now 
and  then  favoured  hours,  when  light  shines  upon 
the  sacred  page  ;  when  your  heart  burns  within 
you  ;  when  your  mind  is  active,  and  almost  every 
paragraph  and  clause  suggest  a  topic  and  a  method 
for  a  sermon.  I  have  found  it  important  to  make 
the  most  of  such  seasons,  even  by  turning  aside 
from  my  projected  labours  and  employing  several 
hours  together  in  sketching  plans  for  future  dis- 
courses. The  fruit  when  ripe  must  not  only  be 
shaken  from  the  tree,  but  stored  away  with  care 
for  future  use,  otherwise  it  will  wither  and  become 
unsavoury.  Do  not  trust  to  memory  to  retrace 
these  thoughts,  but  commit  them  to  writing,  so 
that  without  labour  you  can  call  them  up  when 
you  need  them.  Such  skeletons  will  always 
come  to  good  service  ;  and  when  well  elaborated, 
will  rarely  disappoint  your  first  vivid  impressions. 
I  have  known  ministers  who  where  perpetually 
complaining  for  want  of  subjects  for  their  public 
discourses ;  but  I  cannot  but  think  that  you  will 
rarely  be  at  a"  loss  for  subjects,  if  your  are  habit- 
ually and  prayerfully  familiar  with  the  Bible  ;  but 
rather  will  your  Text  Book  be  always  rich,  and 


YOUNG    CLERGYMAN.  117 

far  in  advance  of  your  necessities.  We  become 
exhausted  without  much  difficulty  ;  the  Bible 
never. 

If  you  write  your  sermons,  which  I  strongly 
recommend,  never  allow  yourself  to  prepare  more 
than  one  written  discourse  a  week.  One  sermon 
a  week,  well  planned,  well  digested,  carefully 
written,  and  faithfully  applied,  is  labor  enough 
for  any  man  who  allows  himself  any  time  for  in- 
tellectual improvement.  One  such  sermon  a  week 
will  enable  you  to  draw  upon  your  Text  Book  for 
two  or  three  others  without  much  preparation.  In 
your  most  laboured  discourses,  let  the  force  of 
your  mind  and  the  ardour  of  your  heart  be  laid 
out  in  the  application  of  your  subject.  Ministers 
often  fail  in  this,  and  it  is  a  sad  failure.  In  a 
word,  make  every  discourse  as  good  as  you  can 
make  it.  Sure  I  am,  my  dear  brother,  that  if  you 
are  like  the  writer  of  this  letter,  you  will  find 
defects  enough  in  your  best  performances  to  fill 
you  with  discouragement. 

One  thought  more  :  Never  spoil  a  good  subject 
for  want  of  time.  Rather  take  an  old  sermon,  or 
preach  without  writing,  and  give  yourself  what- 
ever time  your  subject  requires,  be  it  less,  or 
more.  As  a  general  rule  never  write  a  hasty 
sermon.     Rather  cast  yourself  upon  God7  and  go 


118  LETTER    TO    A 

to  the  pulpit  expecting  strength  according  to  your 
day.  Under  such  exigency  Bene  precasse  est 
bene  studuisse. 

Two  things  you  will  find  indispensable  to  pro- 
fitable preparations  for  the  pulpit : — prayer  and 
toil.  You  must  be  a  man  of  prayer.  Prayer 
will  give  you  thought,  tenderness,  and  a  power  of 
feeling  which  nothing  else  can  give.  Sermons  are 
heartless,  lifeless  things  that  are  not  elaborate 
with  prayer.  The  difficulties  of  your  work,  and 
your  own  weakness  invite  you  to  your  closet.  If 
you  look  to  yourself  only,  all  is  darkness,  dis- 
couragement and  despair.  We  have  this  trea- 
sure in  earthen  vessels,  that  the  excellency  of  the 
power  may  be  all  of  God.  There  is  no  substitute 
for  Prayer.  And  you  must  consent  to  labour. 
There  is  no  severer  toil  than  the  labours  of  the 
sacred  ministry.  Other  men  may  rest ;  may  retire 
from  business  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  acqui- 
sitions ;  but  there  is  no  rest,  no  retirement  for  the 
minister  of  the  gospel.  The  very  Day  of  Rest  of 
others,  is  a  day  of  labour  and  solicitude  with  him. 
The  duties  of  one  Sabbath  are  scarcely  fulfilled, 
and  his  thoughts  are  upon  his  preparations  for 
another.  And  when  he  looks  forward  through 
life,  he  sees  no  end  to  his  toil  but  in  the  grave. 
There  is  rest  not  until  the  battle  is  fought  and  the 
victory  won. 


YOUNG     CLERGYMAN.  119 

Forgive  me  this  freedom.  My  love  for  you,  my 
interest  in  your  usefulness,  and  you  condescension 
in  laying  this  burden  upon  me  have  given  me  this 
boldness.  The  fields  are  white  to  the  harvest,  my 
young  brother,  and  you  have  everything  to  en- 
courage you  in  your  toil.  The  Captain  of  your 
salvation  is  with  you,  and  you  may  burnish  and 
gird  on  your  armour.  With  a  bosom  glowing 
with  the  love  of  Jesus,  renewedly  pledge  yourself 
whether  you  live,  to  live  unto  the  Lord;  and 
whether  you  die,  to  die  unto  the  Lord.  As  one 
of  the  stewards  of  the  divine  bounty,  go  and  un- 
lock the  cabinet  of  his  grace  to  your  impoverished 
fellow-men.  As  a  messenger  of  his  mercy,  go  and 
open  the  fountains  of  life  to  a  dying  world.  Go, 
herald  of  peace,  and  wreath  the  promises  around 
the  brow  of  the  dejected,  and  mitigate  the  woes  of 
the  desponding.  And  when  your  benevolence  is 
satiated,  and  you  ask  not  to  be  instrumental  in 
saving  another  soul  from  death,  then  may  you 
desire  to  rest  from  your  labours. 
With  fraternal  love, 

Yours,  G.  S„ 


ir 


No.  V. 


THE    PANORAMA. 

Will  the  world  ever  be  persuaded  that  all  expec- 
tations of  happiness  are  delusive  that  are  not 
founded  on  God?  The  soul  of  man  is  a  ruined, 
undone  existence  —  a  poor  deserted,  dejected 
thing,  that  has  not  God  for  its  refuge  and  joy. 
Give  it  all  of  earth  that  it  solicits  ;  multiply  around 
it  the  ten  thousand  gratifications  of  sense  ;  increase 
within  it  the  still  more  numerous  and  delightful 
pleasures  of  thought;  and  if  they  terminate  on  earth, 
its  restless  desires,  and  its  still  more  restless  imagi- 
nation, disappointed  and  deceived,  are  perpetually 
in  pursuit  of  something  new,  some  untried  good. 
I  have  seen  those  who  imagined  they  had 
found  the  good  they  were  seeking  after.  But 
when  I  have  sat  down  with  them  in  their  retire- 
ment, have  become  familiar  with  their  thoughts, 
and  sympathized  with  their  joys  ;  I  have  mar- 
ked their  solicitude,  and    uniformly  scon    that 


THE     PANORAMA.  121 

in  a  iittie  while  their  sunshine  of  happiness  is 
obscured  by  clouds. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through 
my  mind  as  I  sat  one  evening  at  my  window 
gazing  upon  the  busy  scenes  which  everywhere 
met  my  eye.  The  stir  and  clamour  of  a  populous 
city  kept  on  unceasingly  around  me.  The  gleam- 
ing lights,  the  quick  steps,  the  passers  by,  the  rattle- 
ing  of  wheels  combined  to  complete  the  confusion. 
Above,  as  in  contrast,  the  heavens  stretched  their 
immoveable  canopy,  where  the  bright  stars  kept 
their  distant  and  permanent  home.  All  on  earth 
seemed  variable  and  tumultuous  ;  all  above,  still, 
constant  and  unchangeable.  As  the  night  ad- 
vanced, and  the  bustle  and  noise  abated,  I  became 
so  deeply  immersed  in  reflection,  as  gradually  to 
lose  all  consciousness  of  objects  around  me. 
They  slowly  disappeared,  and  in  their  place  an 
isolated  stage  or  platform  rose  before  me.  At  the 
first,  I  could  discover  nothing  but  its  dim  outline  ; 
but  by  degrees,  it  took  a  more  definite  and  palpa- 
ble form  ;  and  as  my  eye  became  accustomed  to 
the  view,  I  could  descern  miniature  human  figures, 
swarming  in  countless  numbers  upon  its  arena. 
Some  seemed  to  be  pursuing  their  way  slowly,  as 
though  occupied  with  intense  thought ;  others 
were  hurried  on  with  restless  activity.     Here,  was 


122  THE     PANORAMA. 

a  group  holding  amicable  intercourse  ;  there,  two 
hostile  bands  arrayed  in  mimic  conflict.  The  scene 
seemed  indeed  a  world  in  miniature,  where  eacii 
station,  each  employment  had  its  petty  represen- 
tative. The  tradesman  was  vending  his  wares ; 
the  merchant  grouping  with  his  fellows  upon  the 
mart  of  traffic  ;  the  student  with  his  book  ;  the 
orator  at  his  desk ;  the  idler  lounging  listlessly  on 
his  way.  There  were  children  also  careering  by 
in  their  sports.  As  I  watched  more  closely,  I  ob- 
served that  occasionally,  as  if  by  untoward  acci- 
dent, some  of  these  automata  became  severed  from 
the  mechanisim  which  linked  the  whole  together, 
and  suddenly  disappeared.  The  scene  however 
was  so  crowded  and  confused,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  I  discovered  that  this  occurrence  was 
common  to  them  all.  Some  indeed  vanished  as 
soon  as  they  appeared  ;  others  passed  some  way 
across  the  stage ;  and  a  few  I  could  trace  even  to  its 
extreme  verge,  but  eventually  their  fortune  was  the 
same  with  all  the  rest.  In  the  midst  of  their  rest- 
less career,  all  in  their  turn  disappeared,  and  their 
places  were  occupied  by  a  new  succession  of  the 
same  busy  figures.  As  I  watched  their  hurried 
motions,  their  strange  gesticulation,  their  striving 
and  pushing  heedlessly  on  their  way,  I  was  moved 
to  smile,  and  exclaimed,  "  What  a  singular,  what 
an  unmeaning  scene  !;' 


THE     PANORAMA.  123 

"  Dost  thou  smile  ?"  said  a  voice  near  me. 
"  Look  again.  It  is  the  Panorama  of  human  life." 
As  I  looked  again,  everything  appeared  to  in- 
crease in  magnitude.  The  curtain  which  over- 
hung the  scene  seemed  to  be  gradually  extended. 
until  it  reached  and  became  commensurate  with 
the  heavens.  From  its  dark- folds  the  stars  shone 
out  mildly,  obscured  at  intervals  by  passing  clouds. 
The  petty  stage  upon  which  it  had  before  rested 
was  magnified  into  a  world,  and  the  figures  which 
traversed  it  so  incessantly,  became  living,  breath- 
ing men,  crossing  to  and  fro  upon  its  surface. 
The  smile  fled  from  my  lips,  and  I  watched  it 
with  redoubled  interest.  The  scene  now  had  a 
voice  which  pierced  to  the  inmost  depths  of  my 
heart.  A  complete  and  perfect  picture  of  human 
life  was  presented  to  my  imagination,  with  all  its 
varied  peculiarities  distinctly  exhibited.  Some 
were  upon  the  mart  of  business,  listening  to  the 
details  of  profitable  adventure,  and  planning  a 
thousand  ways  to  add  to  their  increasing  wealth. 
Others  were  buried  in  vain  amusements,  and 
seemed  to  derive  their  highest  gratification  from 
the  pleasures  of  sense.  There  were  groups  of 
labourers  and  artisans  employed  in  useful  indus- 
try. Farther  on  were  the  votaries  of  science  crowd- 
ing to  her  gorgeous  temples.     Pride  was  rolling 


124  the    panorama; 

in  his  chariot,  Poverty  gleaning  the  refuse  of 
the  streets,  and  the  children  were  at  their  sports. 
All  seemed  incessantly  busy,  and  alternately  en- 
wrapt  and  wearied  with  their  pursuits.  Amid  the 
tumult,  strife  and  gaiety  which  prevailed,  one  and 
another  would  suddenly  disappear  from  the  scene. 
The  child  in  the  height  and  bloom  of  its  buoyant 
life  was  arrested  by  the  cold  grasp  of  Death,  and, 
damp  with  a  mother's  tears,  was  coffined,  and  borne 
away  no  more  to  revisit  the  world.  The  youth, 
the  man  passed  in  a  moment  from  the  scene  where 
all  their  hopes  seemed  centered,  ushered  thence  by 
the  same  remorseless  hand.  Nor  did  the  aged  escape 
from  the  common  destiny.  Yet  still  the  bustle 
and  activity  of  all  around  continued  unabated. 
They  seemed  not  to  heed  the  fate  of  those  who 
were  snatched  away,  or  scarcely  to  grieve  for  their 
absence,  but  hurried  forward  in  their  course  as 
though  in  the  pursuit  of  some  invaluable  good. 

"  What  seek  they  so  ardently  1n  I  exclaimed 
aloud.  "  The  object  of  this  search  must  be  of 
"  great  moment,  since  they  are  thus  eager  in  the 
"pursuit.  Yet  what  do  they  attain,  but  Death  1 
"  Is  it  this  ?  Is  it  repose  from  that  unceasing 
restlessness,  that  seems  inflicted  as  a  curse  upon 
them  V 

M  Nothing  is  farther  from  their  thoughts,  neither 


THE     PANORAMA.  125 

"does  death  bring  repose  to  such  as  these,"  said  the 
same  voice  which  I  had  before  heard. 

"  What  then  do  they  seek  ?" 

"Happiness." 

I  could  not  speak  for  wondering  at  this  reply. 
I  knew  that  they  were  my  fellow-men,  and 
wept  for  their  delusion,  remembering  my  own. 
Can  it  be  so  ? — I  thought — can  self-deceit  carry 
its  victims  so  far  ?  Will  men  never  awake  to  a 
sense  of  their  true  interest  ?  Are  all  these  seeking 
after  happiness  ?  Can  those  thus  natter  them- 
selves who  are  plunged  in  the  pleasures  of  sin  ; 
who  seek  their  own  to  the  injury  of  others — this 
world  at  the  expense  of  another— themselves  rather 
than  God  ? 

As  I  continued  to  watch  what  was  passing  before 
me,  I  soon  discovered  that  the  success  of  these 
infatuated  beings  in  their  search  for  happiness, 
was  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  means 
they  adopted  to  attain  to  it.  Hope  continually 
animated  them,  but  a  hope  never  realized.  Their 
efforts  were  unceasing,  but  vain.  Boisterous  mirth, 
exultation,  self-gratulation,  sometimes  lighted  up 
their  features,  but  these  emotions  would  quickly 
subside,  leaving  them  a  prey  to  disquietude  and 
remorse.  The  mart  of  business  was  a  scene  of 
trivial  vexations,  murmuring,  and  mutual  distrust. 


126  THE     PANORAMA. 

The  field  of  labour  and  the  occupations  of  industry 
were  crowded  with  care  and  hardship,  with  turmoil 
and  disappointment,  and  with  glittering  phantoms 
that  were  embraced  for  substantial  reality.  Pleasure 
lighted  up  its  gaudy  lamp,  while  the  thoughtless 
insect  that  gaily  fluttered  around  it  was  consumed 
by  its  flame.  Power  struggled  oyer  the  arena  of 
its  conflicts,  grasped  its  little  world,  and  wept  that 
it  had  not  another  world  to  conquer.  The  sons  of 
pride,  slow  to  learn  that  earthly  good  could  deceive 
them,  wandered  from  one  source  of  expectation  to 
another,  perpetually  disappointed.  Even  child- 
hood, joyous  and  careless  as  it  seemed,  showed  by 
its  continual  change  and  restlessness,  that  its  ulti- 
mate desires  were  unattained.  There  were  hidden 
recesses  also  all  around  this  vast  scene,  which 
though  they  courted  not  the  eye,  were  every  where 
receiving  this  busy  multitude  in  untold  numbers. 
Here  was  one  indicated  by  its  meagre  ornament, 
where  had  withdrawn  the  children  of  obscurity 
and  insignificance,  of  disappointment  and  poverty, 
of  pain  and  disease.  Here  was  another,  huno-  in 
sable,  where  many  a  hope  was  extinguished,  and 
many  a  swollen  and  broken  heart  had  retired  to 
conceal  its  sorrows.  And  here  was  another — the 
place  of  lamentations  and  tears — where  many  an 
accent  of  woe  was  heard,  and  many  a  sigh  was 


THE    PANORAMA.  127 

extorted,  which  no  resolution  and  no  pride  of 
character  could  suppress. 

If  there  were  exceptions  to  these,  I  saw  them 
here  and  there  in  an  humble  individual,  who  in 
all  his  course  had  his  eyes  stedfastly  fixed  on 
heaven.  Almost  perpetual  tranquillity  seemed  to 
rest  upon  his  features.  Seasons  of  trial  at  times 
assailed  him,  and  misfortune  and  self-humiliation 
often  cast  a  cloud  over  his  brow ;  but  it  was  a 
cloud  coloured  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow. 
When  my  eye  followed  such  a  one  to  that  grave 
into  which  the  rest  sank  with  such  reluctance, 
and  not  a  few  of  them  with  despair,  I  could  not 
discover  a  regret  or  a  fear  interrupting  his  repose. 
When  Death  enfolded  him  in  his  cold  arms,  he 
seemed  insensible  to  his  terrors  and  fell  calmly  to 
rest.  I  could  well  understand  that  such  had 
rightly  sought  and  had  truly  attained  lasting 
happiness ;  but  for  the  rest,  their  object  seemed 
uncertain,  their  exertions  useless,  their  life  a 
troubled  sea,  their  death  unsoothed  by  remem- 
brance or  expectation.  And  could  you  ask  them, 
one  by  one,  each  would  confess  that  it  is  a  vain 
thing-  to  have  set  his  affections  on  the  earth. 

"  Thou  art  thyself  an  actor  in  this  scene,"  said 
the  voice.     *  Examine  thy  heart  and  life.     See,  if 

12 


128  THE    PANORAMA. 

"  thine  own  search  has  not  been  after  happiness — 
"  if  thou  hast  obtained  it— and  from  whence." 

I  listened, — I  gave  myself  up  to  thought,  and  as 
the  scene  before  me  slowly  disappeared,  reflections 
like  the  following  passed  through  my  mind. 

It  is  kind  in  the  Father  of  mercies  to  disappoint 
the  hopes  that  rest  on  earth,  that  the  soul  may 
find  her  rest  in  him.  Earth  may  satisfy  the  un- 
intellectual  creation,  but  can  never  satisfy  a  mind 
that  pants  for  immortality.  The  very  largeness  of 
its  desires  makes  it  unhappy.  This  world  has 
not  enough  for  such  a  grasping,  undying  existence. 
All  excellency  and  all  blessedness  meet  in  God 
and  are  derived  from  him:  The  Moon  at  mid- 
night shining  upon  the  dark  ocean,  the  distant 
promontory  towering  upon  the  tempest-tost  mari- 
ner, the  morning  star  arising  on  the  benighted 
wanderer  of  the  desert,  the  opening  of  the  Spring 
in  all  the  richness  and  beauty  of  its  vegetation 
after  the  chill,  bleak  blasts  of  Winter  have  gone 
by,  are  not  more  gladsome  than  the  light  of  his 
countenance  when  it  pours  its  consolations  upon 
the  soul. 

Ye  then,  who  are  allured  by  the  imaginations  of 
future  greatness — ye  who  are  seduced  by  the  hope 
of  wealth — ye  who  are  enchanted  by  the  prospects 
of  pleasure — ye  who  are  charmed  by  endearments 


THE    PANORAMA.  129 

which  seem  to  have  the  power  of  beguiling  every 
sorrow,  and  by  a  sort  of  secret  incantation  con- 
trouling  the  troubled  mind  ;  learn  from  the  expe- 
rience of  ten  thousand  hearts,  that  this  world  is  but 
a  conflict  of  desires  and  expectations  which  it  can 
never  gratify.  Pursue  it  as  you  will ;  distribute 
as  you  will  all  its  enjoyments ;  neither  its  knowledge 
nor  its  riches,  neither  its  attachments  nor  its 
honours,  neither  its  leisure  nor  its  toil  can  fill  the 
void  which  in  every  virtuous  mind  is  occupied  by 
the  love  of  God.  You  must  look  where  no  human 
eye  has  never  penetrated  to  find  happiness  out  of 
him. 


No.  VI. 


MORAL    GRADATIONS. 

There  is  a  vast  range  of  moral  existencies  within 
the  divine  empire,  from  the  lowest  and  vilest,  to 
the  most  pure  and  exalted.  There  are  also  almost 
endless  gradations  of  happiness  and  misery,  each 
of  which  is  determined  by  its  distance,  or  near- 
ness to  Him  who  is  the  source  and  fountain  of  all 
good. 

If  you  begin  at  the  lowest  point  of  depression 
in  this  vast  series,  you  must  look  into  the  world 
of  perdition.  Of  all  beings  in  the  universe,  these 
are  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  Father  of 
lights.  There  is  in  their  moral  nature  no  resem- 
blance to  him,  no  tendency  of  moral  feeling  toward 
him  :  but  rather  everything  that  recoils  and  starts 
back  from  the  knowledge  and  fellowship  of  the  "first 
Fair  and  the  first  Good."  They  shun  the  tokens 
of  his  presence  ;  and  if  the  sentiment  of  joy  ever 
throbs  in  bosoms  so  guilty  and  miserable,  rejoice 


MORAL    GRADATIONS.  131 

that  there  are  eternal,  impassable  barriers  which 

separate  them  from  him  before  whom  they  fear 

and  tremble.     And  He  draws  not  nigh  to  them, 

except  in  the  expression  of  his  wrath.     His  love 

never  cheers  those  gloomy  abodes  of  malignity 

and  despair.     The  light  of  his  countenance  never 

darts  across  the  gulph  to  sooth  and  refresh  their 

forlorn  and  desolated  minds.     The  angels  of  his 

mercy  never  pass  those  adamantine  gates,  or  scale 

those  walls  of  fire.     It  is  a  world  of  unmingled 

gloom  and  terror,  of  unavailing  sighs  and  bitterest 

despair.     O  there  is  no  source  of  misery  deeper 

than  this  universal  and  perfect  alienation  from 

God.      It  flows   out  in   streams   of   unmingled 

wormwood  and  gall.     It  is  a  lake  of  fire.     It  is  an 

ocean  of  sorrows.     The  bosoms  in  which  it  dwells 

constitute  the  most  perfectly  wretched  class  of  ex- 

istencies   in   the   universe ;    inhabiting   a  world 

everywhere  filled  with  sighs  and  anguish — replete 

with  agony — hung  round  with  the  symbols  of  the 

second  death — enveloped,    alternately   with    the 

blackness  of  darkness  and  the  lurid  corruscations 

of  the  flame  that  is  not  quenched. 

Somewhat  above,  and  just  on  •  the  confines  of 

these  dreary  abodes,  are  the  dwellers  in  Pagan 

lands.     There  are  vast  tracts  of  this  inhabited 

globe  that  are  covered  with  the  veil  of  ignorance 

12* 


132  MORAL     GRADATIONS. 

and  beneath  which  are  millions  of  the  human  race 
in  spiritual  death.  Altar  after  altar  may  be  seen 
alternately  fresh  with  the  blood,  putrid  with  the  car- 
casses, and  paved  with  the  bones  of  these  deluded 
victims  of  idolatry  ;  while  at  all  their  shrines,  and 
under  the  open  light  of  the  sun,  may  be  seen  licen- 
tiousness and  pollution, in  theirmost  degrading  and 
disgusting  forms.  Henry  Martin  says,  while  wit- 
nessing the  anual  festival  of  one  of  their  deities. 
;<  I  trembled,  as  though  I  was  standing  within  the 
very  precincts  of  Hell  !"  Even  during  ages  when 
reason  and  philosophy  swayed  their  boasted  and  un- 
disputed sceptre,  men  the  most  distinguished  for 
their  talents  and  intellectual  endowments  were  babes 
in  morals  and  giants  in  crime.  In  what  a  melan- 
choly night,  lengthening  onward  from  age  to  age, 
are  the  poor  heathen  enshrouded  !  The  few  points, 
thinly  scattered  over  this  deary  waste  where  the 
light  of  life  rests,  appear  like  beacons  kindled  to 
admonish  and  guide  almost  a  world  in  darkness. 
The  heavens  and  the  earth  do  indeed  declare  the 
glory  of  their  Maker,  but  they  speak  a  language 
too  feeble  and  obscure  to  find  its  way  to  the 
heart  of  a  benighted  Pagan.  He  knows  enough 
to  be  without  excuse,  but  not  enough  to  be  either 
virtuous,  holy,  or  happy.  There  is  the  bitterness 
of  woe  in  Pagan  lands.     There  dwell  the  children 


MORAL    GRADATIONS.  133 

of  sorrow.  There  men  sigh  and  weep,  but  breathe 
forth  their  sighs  and  shed  their  tears  in  vain. 
There  are  no  beams  of  truth  and  mercy  there  to 
enlighten  their  darkness,  or  dry  up  the  fountains 
of  their  grief.  To  all  the  light,  and  life,  and 
warmth,  and  comfort  of  Christian  hopes  they  are 
strangers.  They  grope  for  the  path  of  life,  but 
grope,  alas,  in  vain  ! 

Upon  a  still  higher  elevation,  you  survey  those 
portions  of  our  globe  that  are  illumined  by  the  gos- 
pel. Omall  these  the  Sun  of  righteousness  has  risen 
with  healing  in  his  beams.  God  is  known  as  the 
chief  good,  and  as  accessible  to  the  rebellious.  His 
word  is  published  ;  his  sabbaths  are  instituted  ;  his 
gospel  is  preached  ;  his  church  is  established  ;  her 
ordinances  are  dispensed  ;  incense  and  a  pure  offer- 
ing go  up  from  ten  thousand  altars  ;  and  men  are 
blessed  with  all  spiritual  blessings  from  heavenly 
places  in  Christ  Jesus.  Untold  moral  influences 
here  inweave  and  blend  themselves  with  every 
department  of  human  society,  dictating  its  wor- 
ship, prescribing  its  duties,  protecting,  extending, 
and  perpetuating  its  joys.  There  are  spots  where 
the  truth  shines  so  intensely,  that  it  has  dried  up 
the  putrid  waters,  and  while  they  have  become 
exhaled,  and  purified,  and  ascended  in  the  vapour 
of  a  grateful  incense,  and  mingled  themselves  with 


134  MORAL    GRADATIONS. 

the  light  of  heaven,  they  have  left  the  once  barren 
and  noxious  soil,  verdant  and  fertile  as  an  earthly- 
Paradise.  There  are  no  temples  here  erected  to 
the  passions  of  men,  no  fanes  dedicated  to  devils, 
no  mysterious  rites  by  which  the  votaries  of  false 
religions  are  seduced  to  iniquity  and  death.  Of 
christian  lands,  it  may  be  said,  The  tabernacle  of 
God  is  with  men.  The  word  is  made  flesh  and 
dwells  among  them.  The  image  of  Him  who  is 
invisible  is  perpetually  before  their  eyes.  And 
just  in  proportion  as  God  is  known,  do  we  dis- 
cover an  elevation  in  their  character,  a  meliora- 
tion in  their  condition,  a  sensible  advance  in  indi- 
vidual, domestic  and  public  happiness. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  there  are  gradations 
of  happiness  in  christian  lands.  There  are  those 
who  cast  off  fear  and  restrain  prayer  ;  who  live 
without  the  Bible  and  without  the  Sabbath  ;  and 
though  the  prayers  which  are  ascending  every 
day  around  them,  and  the  Bible  and  the  Sabbath 
exert  an  indirect  influence  upon  their  character 
and  condition,  and  purify  and  embalm  the  moral 
atmosphere,  yet  are  they  unhappy  men.  Wicked- 
ness and  vice,  though  in  modified  and  suppressed 
deformity,  though  embarrassed  and  restrained  by 
the  wholesome  influence  of  the  very  Christianity 
which  they  regret  and  despise,  everywhere  exert 


MORAL    GRADATIONS.  135 

a  melancholy  power.  If  you  ask  for  the  source 
of  their  wickedness  and  woe,  it  is  ignorance  of 
God,  distance  from  this  high  and  holy  One,  aliena- 
tion from  him  who  is  the  only  satisfying  portion, 
enmity  to  him  who  is  the  most  lovely  and  most 
worthy  to  be  loved.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are 
those  who  are  encircled  by  the  light  of  the  divine 
mercy,  cheered  by  the  light  of  his  countenance, 
happy  in  his  smiles,  joyful  in  his  presence.  There 
is  no  source  of  higher  and  purer  satisfaction  than 
this.  Under  all  the  circumstances  of  human  life, 
whether  prosperous,  or  adverse,  men  who  have 
acquainted  themselves  with  God  may  be  at  peace. 
They  have  learned  to  flee,  not  from  him  but  to 
him — exploring  the  origin  of  their  wants  and 
their  woes  at  his  mercy  seat — holding  fellowship 
with  him  who  supplies  their  necessities  and  re- 
lieves their  sorrows  ;  and  habitually  enjoying  the 
communications  of  that  grace  which  drops  as  the 
rain  and  distills  as  the  dew.  And  though  they 
may  suffer  more  evils  and  trials  than  the  men  of 
the  world,  yet  have  they  sources  of  joy  to  which 
the  men  of  the  world  are  strangers. 

In  this  survey  there  are  two  or  three  classes  of 
distinct  individuals.  Here  is  one  who  though 
not  at  heart  the  friend  of  holiness,  yet  has  no 
sympathy  with  men  who  have  no  fear  of  God 


136  MORAL    GRADATIONS. 

before  their  eyes,  and  therefore  is  he  happier  than 
they.  He  has  no  positive  goodness.  He  is  not,  phi- 
losophically speaking,  any  better  than  the  immoral, 
and  profane.  And  yet  he  is  not  so  bad  as  they. 
He  does  not  live  so  far  from  God.  And  he  is  not  so 
miserable.  He  is  spared  those  pangs  of  a  tortured 
conscience,  those  frowns  of  heaven's  indignation, 
which  so  fearfully  agitate  and  confound  the  more 
bold  and  incorrigible  transgressor.  He  enjoys  a 
sort  of  negative  happiness — an  absence  of  darkness 
— a  reflected  light,  beaming  obliquely  around  him. 

And  here  is  one  still  happier,  unspeakably  hap- 
pier than  the  last.  In  addition  to  all  his  external 
regard  for  the  divine  authority,  he  is  at  heart  the 
friend  of  his  Maker.  He  is  reconciled  to  him 
through  the  blood  of  his  Son.  He  is  a  child  of 
the  Highest.  He  worships  God  in  spirit  and  in 
truth.  He  has  given  himself  away  in  an  ever- 
lasting covenant  never  to  be  revoked,  or  forgotten. 
God  is  his  refuge  and  portion.  Come  what  will, 
he  is  safe,  he  is  happy. 

But  there  is  another  happier  than  he.  He  lives 
nearer  to  the  Father  of  mercies.  His  intimacy 
with  his  Maker  is  more  constant  and  uniform. 
There  is  less  that  is  fitful  in  his  piety  ;  and  more 
that  is  vivid,  and  ardent,  and  strong.  He  walks 
all  the  day  in  the  light  of  the  divine  countenance. 


MORAL    GRADATIONS.  137 

His  soul  thirsts  for  God.  He  comes  near  even  to 
his  seat.  With  a  prostrate  heart  and  a  steadfast 
eye,  he  looks  toward  the  throne.  He  is  at  home  at 
the  place  of  prayer.  The  occupation  of  his  life  is 
to  commune  with  him  who  dwells  between  the 
cherubim,  and  makes  advances  toward  heaven. 
Earth  does  not  perplex,  idols  do  not  ensnare  him ; 
for  he  lives  above  the  world  and  walks  with  God. 
Like  Moses,  he  talks  with  his  Maker,  as  it  were 
face  to  face.  Like  John,  he  leans  on  Jesus'  bosom. 
Like  Paul,  and  Edwards,  and  Tennent,  and  Pay- 
son,  he  is  sometimes  caught  up  to  the  third  hea- 
ven, and  hears  unspeakable  words  which  it  is  not 
lawful  for  man  to  utter.  Such  a  man  stands  upon 
the  highest  eminence  of  earthly  joy. 

Above  the  elevation  and  blessedness  of  this 
favoured  child  of  mercy,  there  is  one  class  of  in- 
telligencies  more.  I  mean  those  immortal  Princes 
who  never  fell  from  their  first  estate  ;  those  bright 
inhabitants  of  that  celestial  world  who  never  lost 
the  divine  image,  and  who  with  Gabriel  stand  in 
the  presence  of  the  most  High.  In  the  same 
society  with  these  are  the  spirits  of  just  men  made 
perfect ; — once  polluted  and  deformed,  but  now 
sanctified  and  justified  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  and  by  the  Spirit  of  our  God,  made  like  unto 
the  angels,  and  with  them  possessing  as  their 


138  MORAL    GRADATIONS. 

inheritance  the  full  and  perfect  enjoyment  of  him 
whose  favour  is  life  and  whose  loving  kindness  is 
better  than  life.  Their  happiness  is  as  perfect  as 
their  holiness  is  unalloyed.  Their  minds  are  en- 
kindled with  one  intense  and  eternal  flame  of 
divine  love,  burning  with  a  clear,  unceasing,  per- 
petual ardency  and  splendor.  And  the  happiest 
spirit  there  is  the  one  that  stands  nearest  the 
throne — the  one  who  sees  and  enjoys  most  of  God, 
and  is  the  brightest  partaker  of  his  glory. 

Is  not  the  soul  happy  in  the  same  proportion  in 
which  she  comes  near  to  God  1  Between  that  vile 
spirit  that  prowls  around  the  outer  court  of  the 
eternal  prison,  and  the  archangel  that  enters  within 
the  veil  into  the  most  Holy  place,  is  there  not  an 
immeasurable  disparity,  all  resulting  from  their 
distance,  or  nearness  to  him  who  is  the  source 
and  fountain  of  all  holiness  and  joy  ? 

How  wide  the  difference  between  the  holy  and 
the  profane  !  The  soul  makes  no  real  approxi- 
mation to  God  until  she  sincerely  loves  him. 
There  can  be  no  genuine  religion,  where  God  is 
not  the  chief  joy.  Supreme  love  or  enmity  is  the 
character  of  every  moral  being  in  the  universe. 
There  is  no  higher  principle  in  heaven  than  su- 
preme love  to  God.  And  there  is  no  deeper,  no  viler 
principle  in  hell  than  alienation  from  him. 


MORAL  gradations:  139 

Who  would  be  the  enemy  of  God  ?  Who  would 
not  love  him  ?  Who  would  live  at  distance  from 
him,  whose  presence  is  the  glory  and  the  joy  of 
heaven,  whose  absence  is  the  darkness  and  woe 
of  Hell  ?  There  be  many  who  say,  Who  vnll  show 
me  any  good  ;  Lord  lift  thou  upon  me  the  light 
of  thy  countenance.  O  that  I  knew  where  I  might 
find  him :  that  I  might  come  near,  even  to  his 
seat  / 


13 


No.  VII. 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 


The  tendencies  of  piety  are  to  do  good.  A  good 
tree  bringeth  forth  good  fruit.  The  high  aim  of 
the  true  christian  is  to  be  useful.  This  is  the  ten- 
dency of  his  spirit,  his  affections,  his  desires,  his 
hopes,  his  efforts,  his  whole  renewed  character. 
It  is  not  that  he  may  be  a  splendid  man,  nor  even 
a  happy  man,  but  a  useful  man. 

That  man  presses  after  a  prize  of  very  question- 
able lawfulness  who  aims  at  being  a  splendid 
christian,  or  even  a  happy  christian  ;  but  he  has 
no  misgivings  of  conscience  when  he  aims  at  being 
a  useful  christian.  He  will  be  very  apt  to  be  dis- 
appointed if  he  aims  at  any  thing  short  of  this, 
while  in  modesty  and  humbly  aiming  at  this,  he 
will  rarely  miss  his  mark. 

To  be  a  useful  christian  a  man  must  be  well 
instructed  in  the  Oracles  of  God.  It  is  vain  to  think 
of  being  usefully   occupied   in   the   exercise   of 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  141 

christian  affections,  or  the  practice  of  christian 
duties,  without  a  good  understanding  of  christian 
truth.     It  is  impossible  otherwise  to  supply  the 
motives  to  obedience,  or  inspire  the  mind  with 
the  principles  of  duty.     Where  religion  would  be 
enthroned  in  the  heart  and  spread  around  her  all 
her  charniSj'she  must  act  by  the  light  of  truth.  And 
is  it  not  indispensable  to  the  christian  character 
to  be  well  established  in  the  essential  doctrines  of 
the  gospel  ?     How  can  a  man  become  conformed 
to  the  moral  image  of  God,  reconciled  to  his  char- 
acter, to  his  laws,  to  his  designs,  and  to  the  salva- 
tion procured  by  his  Son.  if  he  is  ignorant  of  these 
great  and  fundamental  huths  ?  How  can  his  inter- 
nal views  and  affections  become  essentially  chang- 
ed, if  his  understanding  is  shrouded  in  darkness  7 
How   can   he   have   a  spiritual   discernment  of 
spiritual  things,  if  he  has  no  intellectual  discern- 
ment ?     On  a  memorable  occasion  when  many  of 
Christ's  professed  followers  went  back  and  walked 
no  more  with  him,  Jesus  said  unto  the  twelve, 
Will  ye  also  go  away  1     Simon  Peter  answered 
him,  Lord,  to  whom  shall  ice  go  ?    Thou  hast  the 
words  of  eternal  life  ;  and  we  believe  and  are 
sure  that  thou  art  that  Christ,  the  aSW  of  the 
living-  God.     What  multitudes  in  different  ages 
of  the  world  have  sacrificed  their  lives  in  testi- 


142  THE     USEFUL     CHRISTIAN. 

mony  of  the  truth  and  importance  of  the  essential 
doctrines  of  the  gospel.  Indeed  I  know  not  in 
what  saving  faith  consists,  unless  it  be  in  believing 
and  loving  these  great  and  precious  truths.  The 
christian's  future  and  eternal  hopes  are  founded 
upon  God's  immutable  truth.  Other  foundation 
can  no  man  lay  than  that  is  laid.  And  if  a  true 
christian  may  be  distinguished  from  a  merely 
nominal  professor  by  his  believing  and  maintain- 
ing the  essential  doctrines  of  the  gospel,  much 
more  may  the  useful  christian  be  thus  distinguish- 
ed. I  have  ever  regarded  a  man's  religious  senti- 
ments as  a  test  of  his  usefulness.  Nor  have  I 
ever  been  deceived  in  this  impression.  I  see  no 
way  in  which  a  very  ignorant  christian  can  be 
extensively  useful.  One  reason  why  a  multitude 
of  christians  accomplish  so  little  in  the  cause  of 
their  divine  Lord,  is  that'they  are  so  wavering  and 
unsettled  in  their  religious  views,  and  withal  so 
ignorant.  With  these  impressions,  I  have  won- 
dered not  a  little  at  the  growing  prejudice  against 
creeds  and  confessions  of  faith.  By  nothing  has 
the  baneful  influence  of  error  been  so  generally 
counteracted,  and  the  cause  of  truth  so  generally 
promoted,  as  by  these  judicious  confessions.  New 
England  owes  her  orthodoxy,  under  God,  to  the 
Assembly's  Catechism  ;■  and  not  until  that  excel- 


THE     USEFUL     CHRISTIAN.  143 

lent  summary  of  doctrine  fell  into  disuse,  did  her 
churches  decline  from  the  faith  of  their  fathers.  Old 
England  too,  owes  its  remaining  orthodoxy  to  the 
thirty-nine  articles.     And,  where  will  you  find 
a  formula  which  more  clearly  ascertains  and  de- 
fines the  system  of  doctrines  taught  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  than   the  Catechism  and  Confessions 
of  Faith  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  ?    Let  it  be 
a  maxim  with  christians  to  have  no  views  of  truth 
but  such  as  arc  definite.     It  were  unspeakably 
better  to  understand  a  few  truths  well,  and  to  know 
them  certainly,  than  to  expatiate  vaguely  over  the 
extended  fields  of  Christian  science.     The  cer- 
tainty of  knowledge   is  a   very  different  thing 
from  the  extent  of  knowledge.     Because  you  may 
have  but  a  partial  and  imperfect  view  of  divine 
truth,  it  does  not  follow  that  you  must  of  necessity 
be  in  darkness  and  uncertainty  in  relation  to  those 
truths  with  which  you  are  familiar.     Though  no 
man  that  ever  lived,  should  perfectly  know  all 
that  God  has  revealed,  this  would  not  prove  that 
he  does  not  know  many  things  with  perfect  defi- 
niteness  and  certainty.     Though  our  natural  eye- 
sight is  limited,  so  that  we  cannot  see  beyond  a 
certain  circle,  nor  all  things  at  once  in  any  circle, 
yet  we  can   see  one  thing  at  a  time,  and   that 
clearly.     The  same  is  true  of  the  understanding. 

13* 


144  THE     USEFUL     CHRISTIAN. 

Though  we  may  have  no  knowledge  about  some 
truths,  and  though  we  cannot  contemplate  and 
compare  many  truths  at  once  ;  yet  we  can  con- 
template one  thing  at  a  time,  and  compare  a  few 
things  together,  and  hence  come  to  a  definite  and 
certain  knowledge  of  such  things  as  we  can  dis- 
cern and  compare,  and  from  one  truth  clearly 
discover  another,  and  so  make  slow,  but  progres- 
sive advancement  in  knowledge.  And  thus  it  is 
that  we  shall  see  clearly,  the  harmony,  connexion, 
and  consistency  of  the  great  truths  which  the 
Gospel  reveals.  It  is  this  definiteness  of  view 
which  we  affectionately  and  urgently  recommend 
to  you.  One  doctrine  of  the  Bible  consistently 
understood,  will  almost  necessarily  lead  a  devout 
and  inquiring  mind  to  perceive  and  appreciate 
the  harmony  and  connexion  which  run  through 
all  the  peculiar  and  essential  doctrines  of  the 
Gospel.  The  christian  who  thoroughly  under- 
stands one  doctrine  of  the  Gospel,  will  be  very 
apt  to  understand  another  and  another.  Once 
let  his  views  of  divine  truth  be  definite,  and 
there  is  little  danger  but  they  will  remain  dis- 
tinct and  prominent.  Clear  and  definite  views 
of  God's  truth,  combined  with  ardent  piety,  go  far 
to  make  a  useful  christian.  The  treasures  which 
infinite  wisdom    has  accumulated   in  the  Bible 


THE     USEFUL     CHRISTIAN.  14£ 

abundantly  enrich,  and  adorn^  and  give  practical 
utility  to  the  Christian  character.  Aim  at  high, 
attainments  in  Christian  knowledge.  If  you  Cannot 
excel  in  every  thing,  excel  in  this.  Labour,  study, 
pray,  to  excel  in  this.  To  be  burning  and  shining 
lights,  you  must  feel  the  pre-eminent  claims  of  reli- 
gious truth.  Every  christian,  in  his  place  and  pro- 
portion, is  the  instructor  and  guide  of  his  fellow- 
men,  to  lead  them  to  the  day  spring  from  on  high,  to 
illumine  those  who  dwell  in  the  darkness  and 
shadow  of  death,  and  to  show  them  the  way  of 
peace. 

To  be  extensively  useful,  a  christian  must  pos- 
sess ardent  and  uniform  jriety.  His  usefulness 
will,  in  a  great  measure,  depend  upon  the  power 
which  the  religion  of  the  Gospel  exerts  upon  his 
own  soul.  To  this,  more  than  any  other  cause, 
may  be  traced  the  secret  power  of  such  men  as 
Baxter,  Edwards,  Brainerd,  Payson  and  Howard. 
One  reason  why  so  many  christians  live  to  so  little 
purpose  is,  that  while  they  may  perhaps  be  good 
men,  they  are  obviously  deficient  in  that  ardent 
piety  which  has  a  transforming  effect  upon  the 
heart  and  deportment.  God  and  heaven  are  not 
the  point  of  attraction  towards  which  their  minds 
and  efforts  are  perpetually  tending.  I  have  known 
christians  of  splendid  talents  not  half  so  useful  as 


146  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 

many  of  their  humbler  brethren  ;  and  who  pro 
bably  will  not  be  found  in  the  more  illumined  de- 
partments of  the  heavenly  city.  A  christian  can- 
not be  useful  without  fervent  piety.  His  life  must 
be  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  A  living,  active  faith 
receives  from  the  fulness  of  the  Saviour  all  spirit- 
ual graces.  Without  this  he  declines  and  back- 
slides :  he  looses  his  sense  of  the  divine  pre- 
sence, and  his  heart  is  left  alone,  weak,  comfort- 
less and  wretched  through  manifold  temptations. 
The  channel  of  heavenly  communication  is  ob- 
structed— stopped — and  the  sanctifying,  comforting 
influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  cease  to  flow  into  his 
soul.  Abide  in  me  and  I  in  you.  As  the  branch 
cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself  except  it  abide  in  the 
vine,  no  more  can  ye  except  ye  abide  in  me.  I 
am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches.  He  that 
abideth  in  me,  and  I  in  him,  the  same  bringeth 
forth  much  fruit.  If  a  man  abide  not  in  me,  he 
is  cast  forth  as  a  branch  and  is  withered.  The 
christian,  if  he  would  be  useful,  must  have  habit- 
ual impressions  of  a  present  God.  His  mind  must 
be  familiar  with  things  unseen.  Their  beauty 
and  glory  must  shine  upon  him,  not  in  a  glim- 
mering, nickering  light,  but  in  their  steady  splen- 
dour. He  must  have  meat  to  eat  which  the  world 
knows  not  of.     He  must  have  the  image  of  God 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  147 

impressed  on  his  heart,  and  be  in  a  good  measure 
conscious  of  the  high  feelings  and  aspirations 
which  belongs  to  his  heavenly  birth.  He  must 
put  himself  under  the  training  of  the  celestial 
Spirit ;  and  his  graces  must  grow  and  expand,  and 
attain  some  such  measure  of  stability  as  was 
developed  in  the  experience  of  the  great  Apostle 
when  he  said,  I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in 
one.  Such  a  religion  is  not  the  mere  creature  of  the 
imagination  ;  nor  is  it  the  offspring  of  ignorance 
and  enthusiasm ;  nor  is  it  the  result  of  mere  oc- 
casional excitements,  and  momentary  feelings ;  but 
of  strong  and  stedfast  principle.  It  has  weight 
and  influence.  It  does  not  vanish  with  the  first 
causes  of  excitement  and  the  first  passion  of  zeal. 
The  history  of  the  human  mind  furnishes  no 
stronger  principle  of  action  than  such  a  religion  ; 
nor  is  there  any  thing  that  can  awaken  the  soul 
of  man  to  greater  efforts,  or  greater  submission. 
It  prefers  a  thousand  times  to  die  faithful,  rather 
to  live  unfaithful  ;  to  die  with  Christ,  rather 
than  live  without  him.  The  men  of  this  world 
may  not  comprehend  the  principles  and  aims 
of  such  a  religion  ;  they  do  not  know  them, 
and  cast  them  out  as  evil.  Men  of  such  a  spirit 
find  their  peace  where  the  men  of  the  world 
find  their  perplexity  ;  their  joys  where  the  children 


148  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 

of  this  world  find  their  sorrows.  Joyful  in  hope, 
and  patient  in  tribulation,  they  weep  as  though 
they  wept  not ;  they  rejoice,  as  though  they  re- 
joiced not ;  and  they  use  this  world  as  not  abusing 
it.  Such  a  man  may  have  his  seasons  of  darkness, 
as  well  as  his  seasons  of  light ;  his  moments  of 
languor,  as  well  as  his  da}^s  of  strength  ;  his  periods 
of  trembling,  as  well  as  triumph.  The  light  of 
heaven  may  come  in  collision  with  the  darkness 
of  his  own  sinful  heart;  the  divine  life  may  strug- 
gle with  remaining  death ;  and  holiness  and 
sin,  in  rapid  and  imperceptible  succession  may 
maintain  their  conflict  within  him  ;  while  amid 
all  these  alternations  he  does  not  forsake  his  Sa- 
viour. Piety  is  the  christian's  great  adornment  and 
gives  his  character  its  lustre.  The  bare  hopes  of 
piety,  and  even  its  predominating  graces,  ought 
not  to  satisfy  him.  Her  self-denying  spirit,  her 
heaven-aspiring  affections,  her  exalted  and  hum- 
bling joys,  her  unreserved  self-devotement,  her  in- 
creasing purity,  her  sweet  sensibility  and  tender- 
ness, her  absording  confidence  in  the  cross,  and  her 
deep  and  restless  solicitude  for  the  best  interests 
of  men  ;  these,  under  a  wise  direction,  will  not  fail 
to  make  him  a  useful  christian. 

Another  characteristic  of  a  useful  christian,  is 
untiring  diligence  and  energy  of  action.  It  was 
not  by  his  talents  merely,  nor  simply  by  his  fervent 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  149 

piety,  nor  was  it  only  by  his  enlarged  views  of  the 
truth  of  God,  but  by  his  indefatigable  diligence  and 
action  combined  with  these,  that  the  Apostle  Paul 
accomplished  a  greater  amount  of  good,  than  was 
ever  accomplished  by  any  other  man.  The  life  of  a 
useful  christian  is  an  eventful  life.  It  is  fruitful 
in  benevolent  results.  His  energy  is  not  developed 
so  much  upon  set  occasions,  or  by  studied  efforts  : 
his  whole  life  is  full  of  labours  and  events  that  are 
intimately  connected  with  the  best  interests  of  men. 
There  are  pious  men,  who  are  called  to  contend 
with  most  inactive  and  sluggish  habits,  both  of 

DO  J 

body  and  mind  ;  and  there  are  those  who  are  never 
satisfied  and  happy  unless  they  are  in  some  way 
actively  employed ;  and  the  difference  in  the  aggre- 
gate of  good  accomplished  by  these  two  classes  of 
men,  will  be  found,  in  the  course  of  years,  to  be 
immense,  and  almost  incalculable.  Let  every  man 
settle  it  in  his  mind,  that  all  his  indolent  habits 
must  be  broken  up,  if  he  has  the  most  distant  hope 
of  becoming  a  useful  christian.  If  he  is  not  will- 
ing to  harness  himself  for  labour,  he  had  better 
never  enter  the  field.  All  the  springs  of  his  life 
will  run  down  without  effort.  His  hope  and 
courage  will  sink  and  die  away,  if  he  has  no  spirit 
of  enterprize.     He  will  soon  become  a  burthen  to 


150  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 

himself,  and  a  cumberer  of  the  ground.  A  sloth- 
ful christian  is  a  contradiction,  which  it  is  very 
difficult  to  reconcile  with  the  lowest  standard  of 
holiness.  A  man  who  is  born  for  immortality — 
ruined  by  sin — redeemed  by  the  blood  and  Spirit 
of  Jesus  Christ — promised  a  reward  that  outweighs 
all  the  material  universe — and  yet,  murmur  at 
hardship,  and  complain  that  he  must  labour  for 
the  cause  of  Christ !  God  expects  better  things 
of  his  people.  The  Church  demands  them.  The 
age,  the  land  which  gave  them  birth,  and  nurtures 
them  for  scenes  of  toil  and  triumph  such  as  the 
generations  that  are  gone  have  never  witnessed, 
expects  better  things  of  them,  and  things  that  ac- 
company salvation  to  their  own  soul  and  to  this 
dying  world. 

To  be  eminently  useful  christians  must  also  be 
men  of  'prayer.  Nothing  has  so  powerful  a  ten- 
dency to  suddue  the  unhallowed  affections  of  the 
mind,  and  the  grosser  appetites  and  passions  of  the 
body  ;  nothing  will  so  certainly  control  and  direct 
the  thoughts,  and  elevate  them  above  all  that  is 
base  and  grovelling,  trifling  and  little,  as  frequent 
and  intimate  fellowship  with  God.  The  great 
secret  of  mortifying  a  worldly  spirit  is  to  cultivate 
a  heavenly  one.  "  Walk  in  the  Spirit,  and  ye 
shall  not  fulfil   the   lusts   of  the   flesh."      « Be 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  151 

not  conformed  to  this  world,  but  be  ye  trans- 
formed, by  the  renewing  of  your  minds."  No 
where  does  the  world  appear  so  much  like  an 
empty  shadow,  and  no  where  is  its  baleful  in- 
fluence so  certainly  counteracted,  as  in  sweet  com- 
munion with  things  unseen.  Prayer  furnishes 
the  strongest  stimulus,  the  most  powerful  incite- 
ment to  self-denying  duty  and  toil.  And  who  has 
not  observed  that  intelligent,  earnest  prayer  im- 
proves all  the  powers  and  properties  of  the  soul, 
and  wakes  the  mind  from  her  sluggishness  and 
apathy  to  the  exercise  of  the  best  and  most 
ennobling  affections  ?  No  where  does  that  won- 
derful system  of  truth,  that  "  mighty  range  of  mo- 
tive,*' disclosed  in  the  Bible,  obtain  its  sure  and 
certain  dominion  over  the  soul,  if  not  in  the  fre- 
quency, seriousness,  and  joy  of  familiarity  with 
God.  Were  the  history  of  christian's  made  known, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  you  might,  trace  the  distin- 
guished usefulness  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
to  their  closets.  If  you  will  review  your  own 
history,  I.  think  you  will  not  fail  to  see  that 
those  periods  of  it  have  been  most  distinguish- 
ed for  usefulness,  that  have  been  most  distin- 
guished for  prayer.  The  late  Dr.  Payson,  in 
suggesting  a  few  hints  to  a  youthful  brother  in 
the  ministry,  among  other  most  valuable  remarks, 

14 


152  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 

has  the  following :  "  The  disciples,  we  read,  re- 
turned to  Jesus,  and  told  him  all  things  ;  what 
they  had  done,  and  what  they  had  taught.  I 
think  that  if  we  would  every  evening  come  to  our 
Master's  feet,  and  tell  him  where  we  have  been ; 
what  we  have  done  ;  and  what  where  the  motives 
by  which  we  have  been  actuated  ;  it  would  have 
a  salutary  effect  upon  our  whole  conduct.  While 
reading  over  each  day's  page  of  life,  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  reading  it  with  us,  we 
should  detect  many  errors  and  defects  which 
would  otherwise  pass  unnoticed."  It  is  this  fa- 
miliarity with  Jesus — they  are  these  unaffected 
approaches  to  the  throne  of  grace,  through  all  the 
sins  and  duties,  the  mercies  and  trials  of  his  course, 
that  make  the  useful  christian.  I  have  seen 
christians  of  very  reserved  habits  in  their  inter- 
course with  men,  who  were  eminently  useful 
because  they  conversed  with  God.  You  will 
greatly  abound  in  the  duty  of  prayer,  if  you  are 
ever  eminently  useful. 

It  is  also  indispensable  to  distinguished  and 
permanent  usefulness  in  a  christian  that  he  mor- 
tify an  aspiring  spirit.  Do  not  contend  for  pre- 
eminence. If  you  are  thrown  among  those  who 
contend  for  it,  retire  from  the  conflict.  Strive  to 
do  good,  and  if  your  motives  are  impeached,  let 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  153 

your  habitual  deportment  be  your  only  defence 
of  them.  I  say  again,  beware  of  an  aspiring  spirit. 
There  is  scarcely  any  thing  that  has  a  stronger 
tendency  to  neutralize  and  counteract  the  benevo- 
lent designs  of  good  men,  than  a  self-complacent, 
aspiring  spirit.  Beioare  of  it.  Learn  of  him  who 
was  "meek  and  lowly  in  heart."  He  "that  ex- 
alteth  himself  shall  be  abased,  and  he  that  humbleth 
himself  shall  be  exalted."  "Pride  goeth  before 
destruction,  and  a  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall." 

A  christian  to  be  eminently  useful,  must  also 
be  distinguished  for  no  small  share  of  earnest- 
ness  and   zeal.       On  this    point   I   feel   afraid 
of  leaving  a  wrong  impression.      Zeal,  without 
judgment  and  discrimination,  spoils  a  man  for  a 
christian.  A  man  may  possess  exemplary  piety,  and 
distinguished  talent,  but  without  practical  wisdom 
he  cannot  become  useful.     And  yet  discretion  may 
degenerate   into   timidity ;    may  even   lead   to  a 
trimming  and  calculating  servility.     A  character 
that  is  formed  on  the  highest  models  of  usefulness, 
must  be  distinguished  for  decision,  energy,  and 
zeal,   as   well   as   self-diffidence    and   discretion. 
There  is  no  danger  that  zeal  will  be  too  ardent, 
so  long  as  it  is  the  expression  of  simple  benevolence. 
Only  be  sure  that   your  heart   glows  with  the 
benevolence  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  flame  cannot 


154  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN, 

rise  too  high.  True  zeal  will  find  its  choicest 
aliment  in  cultivating  the  spirit  of  Jesus  Christ. 
At  a  great  remove  from  that  false  fervour  and 
electric  fire  which  has  its  origin  in  a  selfish  and 
ambitious  mind,  which  hurries  men  on  to  act  with- 
out consulting  the  sober  dictates  of  their  under- 
standing, and  which  is  distinguished  for  its  sub- 
tility,  turbulence,  and  fickleness,  it  takes  its  rise 
from  the  meek  and  gentle  spirit  of  holy  love.  It 
is  warmed  and  fanned  into  flame  by  every  breath 
of  heavenly  affection.  It  is  simple,  because  it  has 
nothing  to  disguise.  It  is  strong  and  steady,  be- 
cause it  is  deliberate  and  cautious.  It  is  un- 
wearied, because,  like  the  heaven-born  charity 
from  which  it  flows,  "  it  seeketh  not  its  own." 
And  where  shall  we  look  for  such  a  spirit,  if  not 
in  christians  ?  Where  are  there  incentives  to 
such  a  spirit,  if  not  in  the  cross  of  Christ  ?  Where 
did  Paul  find  it,  where  did  the  primitive  Christians 
find  it,  but  in  the  love  of  Christ  ?  What  can 
support  such  a  spirit,  but  those  awful  and  touch- 
ing realities,  those  weighty  and  tender  truths 
which  are  exhibited  with  such  irresistible  energy 
and  vividness,  in  that  wonderful  redemption  which 
is  the  foundation  of  all  your  hopes  ?  A  light  and 
cursory  view  of  duty  will  not  answer  the  purpose 
of  your  high  calling.     The  mind  must  be  roused 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  155 

to  the  importance  of  it ;  you  must  think  intensely, 
and  feel  deeply ;  every  power  of  body  and  mind 
must  be  awakened  and  invigorated  in  the  service 
of  the  divine  Master. 

There  is  another  topic  on  which  I  will  make  a 
few  observations  :  and  that  is,  the  importance  of 
exercising  a  kind  and  fraternal  spirit.  Charity 
suffereth  long  and  is  kind.  Charity  is  not  easily 
provoked.  Charity  thinketh  no  evil.  Charity 
beareth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all 
things.  O,  if  this  spirit  of  kindness — this  mutual 
forbearance — this  patience  of  injury — this  freedom 
from  suspicion  and  jealousy — this  spirit  of  frater- 
nal love  and  confidence  were  more  prominent  in 
the  character  of  christians,  how  would  they  adorn 
the  doctrine  of  God  their  Saviour,  and  recommend 
religion  to  the  world  !  If  I  do  not  misinterpret, 
nor  pervert  the  signs  of  the  times,  the  day  is  near 
when  there  will  be  a  peculiar  demand  for  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  spirit  in  the  American  churches. 
"  If  a  man  say,  I  love  God,  and  hate  his  brother, 
he  is  a  liar  ;  for  if  he  love  not  his  brother  whom 
he  hath  seen,  how  can  he  love  God,  whom  he 
hath  not  seen  ?"  How  often  have  Ave  seen  the 
usefulness  of  christians  lamentably  circumscribed 
through  the  want  of  a  kind  and  affectionate  spirit  1 

There  are  those  who  need  nothing  but  brotherly 

14* 


156 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 


kindness  to  make  thern  patterns  of  every  thing 
that  is  praiseworthy.  I  know  that  the  constitu- 
tional temperament  of  good  men  is  various  ;  but 
there  is  no  apology  for  the  man  whose  external 
light  is  on  the  wane,  because  the  glow  of  kind- 
ness declines  within.  You  live  in  such  an  evil 
world — a  world  where  there  are  so  many  occur- 
rences that  are  unavoidably  painful — so  many 
wrongs  to  be  encountered  and  forgiven,  and 
where  there  are  such  frequent  requisitions  for  the 
exercise  of  a  kind  spirit,  that  if  you  do  not  take 
special  pains  to  cultivate  it,  all  the  better  feelings 
of  your  hearts  will  be  suppressed,  and  the  manly 
and  generous  spirit  of  a  heaven-born  religion  will 
lose  its  glory  in  the  envyings  and  suspicions  of 
an  earthly  and  selfish  mind. 

Would  christians  be  useful,  let  them  beware  of 
an  earthly  mind.  Let  them  cherish  an  habitual 
impression  of  the  vanity  and  unsatisfying  nature 
of  all  earthly  things.  Let  them  set  their  affections 
on  things  above,  not  on  things  on  the  earth.  Nor 
is  the  providence  of  God  in  this  respect  at  all  at 
war  with  his  word.  God  does  not  require  chris- 
tians to  depreciate  worldly  good ;  to  exclude  them- 
selves from  human  society  ;  to  immure  themselves 
in  cloisters,  for  the  sake  of  mortifying  an  earthly, 
and  nurturing  a  heavenly  mind.     It  is  altogether 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  157 

a  mistaken  view  of  their  duty  that  has  induced 
some  persons  to  retire  altogether  from  the  world, 
and  to  renounce  all  the  intercourse  and  activity  of 
social  life.  The  author  of  our  nature  has  with 
wonderful  wisdom  adjusted  the  claims  of  eternity 
and  time  to  the  relations  which  his  people  sustain 
to  both  worlds.  He  does  not  require  them  to  dis- 
regard the  claims  of  earth.  He  does  not  require 
any  such  divulsion  of  our  nature  as  necessarily 
sets  the  parts  of  it  in  perpetual  warfare.  The 
design  of  the  gospel  is  to  elevate  and  sanctify  the 
whole  man  ;  to  give  the  best  and  most  benevolent 
direction  to  our  entire  existence  ;  to  raise  up 
from  the  ruins  of  the  apostacy  a  new  creature  ; 
and  to  show  its  power,  not  in  destroying  man,  but 
in  regenerating  him.  Regenerated  man  is  fitted 
for  both  worlds.  A  due  regard  to  the  engage- 
ments of  time  tdoes  not  interfere  with  the  most 
direct,  and  quiet  course  toward  heaven.  The 
christian  never  appears  more  in  the  true  glory  of 
his  renewed  nature  than  when  he  carries  his 
religion  into  the  world,  and  lets  his  light  shine 
on  all  the  departments  of  active  and  secular  duty, 
and  there  amid  the  dust,  and  noise,  and  conflicts 
of  earth,  pursues  his  way  toward  the  skies.  It  is 
a  much  more  difficult  thing  to  carry  religion  into 
the  world,  than  to  keep  at  a  distance  from  the 


158 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN: 


conflict.  Religion  does  not  consist  in  living  at 
distance  from  temptation,  any  more  than  in  run- 
ning needlessly  into  it ;  but  rather  in  encounter- 
ing and  overcoming  temptation  when  it  plainly 
meets  us  in  the  path  of  duty.  By  becoming 
christians,  we  do  not  cease  to  be  men.  The 
world  has  its  temptations,  and  the  world  is  every 
where.  It  is  in  the  recesses  of  the  wilderness. 
It  is  in  the  solitude  of  the  ocean.  It  is  in  the 
retirement  of  the  closet.  It  is  deep  in  our  own 
hearts.  We  shall  find  the  world  wherever  we 
find  our  own  unhallowed  passions  —  passions 
which  no  solitude  extinguishes,  and  which  often 
gather  strength  from  seclusion.  No  man  can 
run  away  from  the  world  without  running  away 
from  himself.  The  presumptuous  christian  will 
find  the  world  following  him  into  his  retirement ; 
while  the  subdued  and  chastened  christian  will 
find,  amid  all  the  complications  and  cares  of  busi- 
ness, a  solitude  in  his  own  bosom,  a  little  world  of 
tranquillity  within,  a  retreat  more  inaccessible  than 
his  closet,  where,  while  his  body  is  occupied  in 
its  ten  thousand  labours,  his  soul  lives  for  God, 
and  where  amid  all  the  confusions  of  earth,  he 
possesses  his  mind  in  peace.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  living  inthe  world  whilein  the  deepest  soli- 
tude ;  and  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  in  solitude 


THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN.  159 

in  the  midst  of  the  world.  What  christians 
have  to  guard  against  is  a  xoorldly  spirit.  This 
will  destroy  their  usefulness.  If  their  treasure 
is  on  earth,  their  hearts  will  be  there.  If  this 
world  is  their  aim  and  object,  they  can  accomplish 
little  as  christians.  If  they  would  be  useful,  their 
great  end  and  aim  must  be  things  unseen.  They 
must  not  forget  their  high  calling.  They  must 
not  forget  why,  nor  for  whom  they  were  sent  into 
the  world,  but  every  where  so  set  their  affections 
on  things  above,  that  they  shall  appear  like  pil- 
grims and  strangers  on  the  earth. 

In  concluding  these  remarks  permit  the  writer  in 
a  word  to  say,  that  it  becomes  the  people  of  God 
to  aim  to  possess  that  uniformity  of  character 
which  the  gospel  requires.  It  is  worth  much 
effort,  watchfulness,  and  prayer,  to  guard  against 
the  more  common  faults  and  blemishes  of  christian 
character.  It  concerns  good  men  to  cultivate 
every  grace  and  virtue,  and  to  be  adorned  with 
all  the  beauties  of  holiness.  The  usefulness  of  a 
christian  depends  much  on  this  uniformity  of 
character.  As  "  dead  flies  cause  the  ointment 
of  the  apothecary  to  send  forth  a  stinking  sav- 
our, so  doth  a  little  folly  him  that  is  in  reputa- 
tion for  wisdom  and  honour."  Little  things 
have  more  to  do  in  the  formation  of  a  spotless 


160  THE    USEFUL    CHRISTIAN. 

moral  character,  than  we  are  at  once  willing  to 
believe.  Especially  beware  of  little  deviations 
from  sterling  rectitude.  "  He  that  is  faithful  in 
that  which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in  that  which 
is  much ;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  is 
unjust  also  in  much."  It  is  impossible  for  the 
man  who  neglects  little  things  then  to  command 
respect,  or  to  be  extensively  useful.  It  is  this  uni- 
formity of  character  which  conciliates  confidence 
and  veneration,  and  which  everywhere  bespeaks  a 
benevolent  and  elevated  mind.  Such  a  christian 
will  not  live  in  vain.  He  may  have  his  superiors 
in  some  particular  traits  of  excellence,  but  in  that 
happy  assemblage  of  excellencies  that  go  to  form  the 
useful  christian,  he  is  one  of  the  lights  of  the  world. 
Not  merely  will  he  find  the  light  of  truth  and 
holiness  kindled  within  his  own  bosom ;  but  he 
will  become  the  source  of  light  to  others.  He 
will  be  like  a  city  that  is  set  on  a  hill.  Men  will 
see  him,  and  see  him  from  afar.  And  when  he 
is  removed  from  this  lower  sphere,  while  it  will 
be  seen  that  one  of  the  lights  of  this  world  is  ex- 
tinguished, it  will  be  gratefully  confessed  that  it 
is  removed  only  to  shine  on  a  wider  and  brighter 
orbit. 


